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FREDERICK  ORIN 

BARTLETT 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINIANA 

ENDOWED  BY 

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CLASS  OF   1889 


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BIG  LAUREL 


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BIG  LAUREL 


FREDERICK  ORIN  BARTLETT 

Author  e/"  One  Year  of  Pierrot ,''  ''Joan  &  Cor 
*•  The  TriferSf''  etc. 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1922,  BV  FREDERICK  ORIN  BARTLETT 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CAMBRIDGE  •  MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  U.S.A. 


TO 

JOHN  WALLACE 

A  SOUTHERN  GENTLEMAN  AND  AN 

AMERICAN  SOLDIER 

UPON  WHOSE  MANUSCRIPT 

THIS  STORY  IS  BASED 


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BIG  LAUREL 


BIG  LAUREL 

CHAPTER  I 

Where  the  narrow,  rocky  road  from  Big  Laurel 
Cove  taps  the  main  highway  down  the  valley, 
a  limpid  trout  stream  refuses  to  give  up  its  right 
of  way  and  forces  a  ford.  Here,  one  afternoon 
in  June,  Bud  Childers  coming  down  from 
his  shack  on  Green  Mountain  stopped  to  water 
his  horse  in  the  middle  of  the  brook.  Lank  and 
lean,  he  sat  easily  astride  the  mare,  gazing  about 
indifferently  in  spite  of  his  twenty- two  years. 
In  his  inscrutable  eyes  there  lurked  something 
of  that  unchanging  limpid  blue  which  coats  these 
North  Carolina  mountains.  It  was  not  easy  to 
read  in  them  anything  except  perhaps  cruelty; 
an  expression  to  which  the  long  line  of  his  thin 
jaw  closing  on  bloodless  lips,  the  high  protruding 
cheek-bones  clearly  traced  by  his  tautly  drawn 
bronzed  skin,  doubtless  contributed.  The  hot 
sun  beating  down  upon  his  head  caused  him  to 
raise  his  black  dust-stained  hat.    A  white  cres- 


4  BIG  LAUREL 

cent-shaped  scar  was  then  revealed  slightly  above 
his  left  ear  clearly  visible  in  his  blue-black  hair 
—  souvenir  of  the  day  that  the  Enfield  boys, 
stimulated  by  liquor,  attempted,  in  an  argument, 
to  knife  him.  The  Enfields  have  their  souvenir 
in  a  marble  slab  in  Mount  Bethel  churchyard. 
The  memory  of  this  episode  was  never  so  com- 
pletely out  of  Bud's  mind  but  that  the  unex- 
pected crackle  of  a  twig  sent  his  hand  flashing 
back  to  the  gun  always  within  reach.  It  did  at 
this  moment  as  his  quick  ear  caught  the  sound 
of  movement  in  the  cover  of  hemlocks  and  rhodo- 
dendrons skirting  the  road  at  the  bend  beyond 
him.  His  face  remained  immobile.  His  eyes 
were  leveled  like  a  rifle  barrel.  His  bony  hand 
was  alert.  And  all  for  a  slight,  flaxen-haired  girl 
carrying  under  her  arm  a  small  sack  of  flour ! 

She  stepped  out  upon  the  road,  and  for  a 
moment  the  sun  claimed  her  for  its  own,  drench- 
ing her  through  and  through  with  its  luminous 
rays  like  a  spot-light  from  a  distant  gallery  on 
the  figure  of  a  woodland  nymph.  It  touched 
with  gold  the  girl's  white-clad  figure,  her  silken 
hair,  her  wonderfully  fair  skin,  and  lighted  her 
eager,  young  face  —  a  primitive  face,  but  with 


BIG  LAUREL  5 

the  beauty  of  a  wild  rose  half  opened.  She  might 
have  been  eighteen  or  a  little  less.  Much  of  the 
child  was  still  left,  but  the  mouth  had  already 
begun  to  harden  and  the  eyes  to  question.  At 
this  moment,  however,  both  eyes  and  mouth  were 
gently  smiling,  moved  into  unconscious  harmony 
with  the  picture  before  her  —  the  slope  pied  with 
mountain  daisies  half  asleep  under  the  soft  radi- 
ance of  the  setting  sun;  the  sanded  road  bur- 
nished to  a  golden  sheen,  and  finally  the  stream 
in  front  where  the  scattered  shafts  of  light  spent 
themselves  in  flashing  from  stone  to  stone.  It 
was  a  setting  worthy  of  the  princes  of  the  fairy 
books  she  had  lately  been  reading  —  reading  as 
children  read. 

Bud,  still  motionless,  saw  her  —  but  not 
wholly  as  a  prince  might  have  seen  her.  His 
eyes  noted  scarcely  more  than  her  pretty  figure 
suggested  by  the  curve  of  her  neck,  the  litheness 
of  her  movements  and  the  trim  ankles.  Her  ap- 
peal to  him  was  the  primitive  appeal  of  a  woman 
to  man.  And  yet  she  was  not  just  any  woman, 
even  though  she  was  not  the  first  upon  whom  he 
had  looked  greedily.  He  was  conscious  of  that 
at  once.     She  was  prettier  than  most  for  one 


6  BIG  LAUREL 

thing.  And  something  more  besides,  although 
he  did  not  attempt  to  analyze  his  emotions.  He 
was  more  interested  in  speaking  to  her.  In  re- 
sponse to  a  tugging  at  his  bridle,  the  horse  moved 
lingeringly  out  of  the  stream  into  the  road.  Then 
the  girl,  startled,  wide-eyed,  looked  up.  For  a 
second  she  seemed  about  to  turn  and  run.  Then, 
as  though  thinking  better  of  that,  she  faced  the 
man.  The  latter  grinned ;  partly  to  assure  her  of 
his  good  nature  and  partly  because  the  sight  of 
any  one  suddenly  surprised  was  amusing. 

"Afeard?"he  asked. 

She  raised  her  head  still  higher.  She  recog- 
nized the  man  now.  From  all  she  had  heard 
about  him  she  was  entitled  to  be  afraid.  But  the 
woods  were  near  and  she  could  run  in  them  like 
a  deer. 

"  No,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"  I  'lowed  mebbe  you  'd  heard  tales  about  me." 

She  remained  uncompromisingly  silent. 

"  My  name  's  Bud  Childers,"  he  announced. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  shifted  the  sack  for- 
ward on  her  arm  as  though  about  to  go  on. 

"What's  yourn.^  "  he  demanded. 

"  Roxie  Kester." 


BIG  LAUREL  7 

He  sidled  his  horse  nearer. 

"  Let  me  have  that  air  sack.  I  'm  goin'  your 
way,  I  reckon." 

"  It  ain't  heavy,"  she  replied,  shrinking  out  of 
reach. 

"  Might  as  well,"  he  insisted  with  his  wrinkled, 
calloused  hands  outstretched;  "me  on  a  horse 
and  you  on  your  feet." 

"  It  ain't  heavy." 

"  Might    as    well  —  me    a    man    and   you    a 


woman." 


"  I  kin  carry  it  all  right." 

He  dropped  his  hands  to  his  side  again,  still 
smiling,  but  with  the  grin  of  a  collie  dog  ready 
to  change  in  a  flash  to  a  snarl. 

"It  ain't  —  isn't  fur  to  where  I  live,"  she 
added  in  a  sincere  dislike  at  hurting  him  —  or 
any  man. 

"  You  been  goin'  to  this  air  school,  aincher?  " 
he  asked,  quick  to  detect  her  avoidance  of  the 
"  ain't." 

"  I  been  goin',''  she  nodded. 

"Like  it?" 

"  More  'n  anything  I  ever  done,"  she  answered. 

"  How  long  yer  been  goin'  ?  '* 


8  BIG  LAUREL 

"Six  years.  Ma  was  sick  last  year,  but  she's 
better  now  an'  I  'm  goin'  back  next  fall." 

"  Six  year  o'  schoolin'  sounds  like  enough  ter 
me.  I  ain't  been  but  two,  an'  that 's  all  I  need. 
Got  me  a  house  over  in  Big  Laurel  Cove,  got  me 
a  cow,  and  I  'm  makin'  money  too." 

The  sack  in  her  arms  was  becoming  heavy. 
She  was  listening  because  she  saw  no  alternative, 
but  her  face  remained  blank.  Bud  noted  it  with 
a  frown. 

"  Got  me  a  house,"  he  repeated  with  slightly 
more  emphasis,  "  and  a  cow  that  give  a  gallon 
and  a  half  at  a  milkin',  a  good  sure-footed  hoss 
and  —  besides,  I  'm  makin'  money." 

"  Looks  like  you  oughta  be  married  with  all 
what  you  say  you  got,"  she  answered  mockingly. 

"  Mebbe  I  will  some  o'  these  days,"  he  an- 
swered, seeking  her  eyes.  But  he  found  them  at 
that  moment  turned  towards  a  bird  in  the  hem- 
locks. 

Bud  shifted  his  position  in  the  saddle  slightly 
and  adjusted  one  side  of  his  lavender  suspenders. 

"  Ain't  no  girl  in  that  thar  Cove  purty  like 
you,"  he  declared. 

"  My  pa  'lowed  I  was  pretty,"  she  answered 
without  embarrassment. 


6C 


BIG  LAUREL  9 

Yo' pa  dead?" 

Three  year  come  this  September." 

"Who  makes  yo'  livin'  fer  yer  if  yo'  pa's  dead?" 

"  My  mother  hires  out  for  washing  and  I  work 
out.    Guess  I  '11  take  the  path  fer  a  piece." 

The  path  mounted  several  feet  to  an  embank- 
ment left  by  the  road-builders  in  grading  the 
course  of  the  road.  The  roadbed  itself,  hidden 
from  the  sunlight  by  the  dense  foliage  of  the 
great  chestnut-oaks  cloaking  the  mountain-side, 
was  rarely  free  of  mud  so  that  those  on  foot 
deserted  it  here  for  the  path.  She  started  at  once 
and  he  followed  below,  losing  sight  of  her  at 
times  as  she  was  hidden  by  the  laurel,  but  falling 
in  with  her  again  where  the  path  rejoined  the 
road.  All  this  while  he  continued  his  conversa- 
tion as  he  was  able. 

"  A  gal  like  you  can't  do  no  good  workin'  out," 
he  suggested. 

"  Ma  thinks  I  do  tol'able  well." 

"  Workin'  out  ain't  like  havin'  a  home  fer  yo' 


own." 


"  I  like  workin'  down  to  Mr.  Howe's.    He  's 
good  to  me  and  so  's  Miss  Wilmer." 

"  It  ain't  like  havin'  a  home  fer  yo'  own.' 


» 


lo  BIG  LAUREL 

"  They  have  books  to  read  down  there." 

"  Where  do  the  Howes  live,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  The  bark-covered  house  with  the  porch  run- 
nin'  round  it  —  this  side  of  Valley  Elk,"  she 
informed  him. 

"  I  pass  thet  way  sometimes.  Mebbe  I  '11  be 
seein'  you  off  an'  on." 

"  Mebbe,"  she  answered  with  a  little  pucker 
of  her  mouth. 

"Where's  yo'  house?" 

"  Up  there." 

She  pointed  to  a  primitive,  clapboarded  struc- 
ture they  were  approaching  on  the  mountain- 
side. 

He  turned  his  eyes  back  to  her. 

"  Oughta  make  a  trip  over  in  the  Cove  and  see 
►mine,"  he  ventured. 

"  Seein'  yours  would  n't  do  me  no  good,"  she 
returned,  a  bit  more  tartly  now  that  she  was  in 
sight  of  home.    "  Good-evenin'." 

With  that  she  began  to  mount  the  path.  It 
followed  a  circuitous  course  through  the  giant 
rhododendrons  growing  on  the  hillside  beneath 
the  house.  In  June  when  they  were  in  flower  she 
looked  down  on  an  undulating  sea  of  pink. 


BIG  LAUREL  ii 

She  entered  the  house  and  closed  the  door 
sharply  behind  her. 

Bud  Childers  remained  in  the  road  until  he 
heard  that  decisive  slam  and  then  turned  and 
resumed  his  interrupted  journey.  It  was  not 
often  that  he  went  out  of  his  way  for  valley  folk ; 
the  round-faced  folk  with  laughter  in  their  eyes. 
It  was  more  often  they  who  changed  their  course 
for  him.  When  he  met  them,  it  was  he  who  kept 
the  middle  of  the  road.  The  life  that  made  him 
lean  had  also  given  him  muscles  with  the  resili- 
ency of  highly  tempered  steel.  The  valley  boys 
with  whom  he  attended  the  Mission  school  for 
two  terms  had  discovered  this. 

At  eleven,  having  learned  to  write  his  name 
Bud  had  gone  back  to  the  Cove;  back  to  the 
house  his  grandfather  had  built  as  soon  after  the 
Civil  War  as  the  Confederate  deserter  hunters 
ceased  to  hunt  him  through  the  mountains.  And 
here,  joining  his  father.  Bud  had  his  own  patch 
of  corn,  a  newly  cleared  strip  of  mountain-side 
punctuated  with  half-burnt  stumps  and  decay- 
ing chestnut-oaks,  showing  still  the  cut,  a  ring 
chopped  around  their  bases,  that  had  wounded 
them  mortally  and  left  them  there  to  die.    At  fif- 


12  BIG  LAUREL 

teen  he  was  logging,  following  the  logs  down 
into  the  valley  to  the  sawmill  and  then  making 
his  way  back  to  the  Cove.  A  living  was  all  he 
claimed  of  life,  and  this  he  could  make  without 
wandering  far  afield. 

His  father's  death  left  him  alone  with  his 
grandmother  —  his  mother  had  given  her  life  to 
bring  him  into  the  world  —  and  this  arrange- 
ment proved  satisfactory  enough.  The  old  lady 
was  not  good  for  much  except  to  cook,  but  she  did 
that  until  two  days  before  her  death.  When  not 
at  the  stove  she  rocked  back  and  forth  mechan- 
ically in  the  doorway,  a  birch  brush  stained  with 
snuff  protruding  from  her  withered  lips.  When 
she  walked,  her  legs  followed  her  uncertainly, 
barely  moving  the  folds  of  the  dirty  gray  calico 
which  clothed  her.  Then  one  day  she  flickered 
out,  leaving  Bud  alone. 

At  first  he  did  not  mind  being  alone,  for  his 
farm  and  his  cooking  kept  him  busy  enough  dur- 
ing the  day.  But  the  evenings  were  long.  Even 
the  old  grandmother  crouching  by  the  fireplace 
had  made  them  shorter  than  they  were  now.  She 
scolded  and  fussed  a  good  deal,  but  she  was 
always  some  one. 


BIG  LAUREL  13 

Bud,  once  or  twice,  had  considered  marrying. 
To  get  him  a  wife  was  the  normal  and  natural 
thing  to  do.  No  house,  without  one,  could  be 
said  to  be  complete.  He  was  quite  unemotional 
over  the  idea,  and  in  the  few  tentative  proposals 
he  had  made  among  the  daughters  of  his  moun- 
tain neighbors  he  was  met  by  an  equally  unemo- 
tional refusal.  Unemotionally  they  had  already 
made  other  plans,  and  though  Bud  was  well 
enough  they  saw  no  reason  for  shifting  their 
affections.  Besides,  to  do  this  would  in  all  prob- 
ability involve  considerable  shooting  on  the  part 
of  certain  young  men  who  would  be  more  or  less 
directly  concerned  in  any  such  alteration  of 
arrangements. 

Bud  accepted  these  decisions  philosophically. 
There  was  no  harm  in  asking  even  if  in  the  end 
he  did  not  receive.  If  the  evenings  seemed  a 
little  lonelier  than  before  after  these  half-hearted 
ventures,  it  was  not  because  any  of  these  young 
ladies  had  left  their  mark,  but  merely  because 
he  had  now  been  longer  alone. 

Bud  moved  slowly  back  over  the  road  he  had 
just  followed  with  Roxie  Kester  and  at  the  ford 
where  he  had  met  her,  stopped  where  he  had 


14  BIG  LAUREL 

stopped  before.  The  setting  had  not  changed 
except  that  the  slowly  sinking  sun  was  now  cast- 
ing a  mellow  glow  over  tree  and  stream  and  road 
instead  of  the  more  brilliant  sheen  of  the  direct 
rays. 

There  at  the  bend  stood  the  same  thick  cluster 
of  rhododendrons  through  which  she  had  pushed. 
For  a  moment  he  waited  as  though  he  expected 
them  to  open  again  and  reveal  once  more  that 
slight  figure.  He  found  his  blood  running  faster 
because  of  this.  Then,  half  ashamed  of  his  mood, 
he  started  on  with  a  muttered  curse  at  his  foolish- 
ness. 


CHAPTER  II 

When  Captain  Edward  Allston,  A.E.F.,  re- 
ceived his  discharge  from  the  army,  he  returned 
to  his  home  in  Baltimore  to  put  up,  as  graciously 
as  possible,  with  the  fuss  about  his  safe  return 
which  he  knew  he  must  inevitably  face  sooner  or 
later.  He  played  his  part  like  a  gentleman.  For  a 
week  he  allowed  his  family  to  do  with  him  what 
they  wished  and  accepted  with  a  smile  every  at- 
tention they  and  his  many  friends,  including  even 
the  sub-debs,  showered  upon  him.  Within  decent 
limits  he  even  permitted  them  to  make  a  hero  of 
him,  although  this,  by  all  odds,  was  the  most  dis- 
agreeable demand  made  upon  him.  He  felt  that 
those  who  had  been  deprived  of  the  chance  of 
serving  directly  were  entitled  to  some  compensa- 
tion, and  if  they  enjoyed  this  sort  of  thing,  this 
was  the  sort  of  thing  he  should  allow  them  to 
enjoy. 

All  this  while  he  was  looking  forward.  He 
was  not  consciously  tired,  but  he  was  confused. 
His  mind  was  in  a  jumble;  filled  with  detached 
pictures  of  training  camps,  and  troop  trains,  and 


1 6  BIG  LAUREL 

foul-smelling  transports,  of  strange  faces  and 
sights  and  smells  and  sensations,  with  the  tyr- 
anny of  military  discipline  binding  together  the 
titanic  whole  like  the  steel  bands  shrunk  around 
artillery  shells.  If  he  talked  reluctantly  to  the 
eager  young  women  who  asked  so  many  ques- 
tions, it  was  because  he  was  not  yet  quite  clear 
in  his  own  mind.  That  was  it ;  he  was  not  quite 
clear.  And  he  wished  to  get  clear. 

The  place  to  accomplish  this  was  not  within  the 
four  walls  of  a  house,  pleasant  as  the  house  might 
be.  He  needed  more  room,  more  silence,  more 
time.  He  needed  the  open  road,  the  open  sky,  and 
above  all  an  open  mind  if  ever  he  hoped  to  get 
back  to  straight,  normal  thinking  —  the  kind  of 
thinking  which  had  characterized  the  Allstons 
since  Phillip  Allston  built  that  fine  old  Georgian 
mansion  on  the  banks  of  the  James  in  1720  and 
established  the  family  in  America.  Ned  Allston 
had  always  resented  the  circumstances  which 
forced  his  grandfather  to  leave  Virginia  and 
those  spacious  grounds  for  town  life  in  Baltimore. 

Allston  remained  at  home  a  week.  Then  he 
packed  his  suitcase,  tossed  it  into  his  low  gray 
roadster,    waved    au    revoir    to    the    somewhat 


BIG  LAUREL  17 

anxious  group  who  did  not  quite  understand,  and 
started  south.  He  had  no  fixed  plan.  He  intended 
to  follow  the  better  roads  into  Virginia  and  pos- 
sibly through  Virginia  into  North  Carolina,  stop- 
ping where  it  was  pleasant  to  stop,  fishing  here 
and  there,  sleeping  and  eating  a  great  deal,  trying 
all  the  time  to  get  his  thoughts  to  run  straight  so 
that  the  world  might  again  appear  orderly  to  him. 
The  scheme  worked  out  even  better  than  he 
expected.  He  found  it  a  little  hotter  than  was 
comfortable,  to  be  sure,  but  he  remedied  that  by 
turning  west  by  north  and  making  for  the  Blue 
Ridge  country.  It  was  all  one  to  him  which  way 
he  traveled  as  long  as  he  retained  the  privilege 
of  traveling  in  any  direction  he  wished.  That 
seemed  to  be  the  one  big  clarifying  idea  he 
worked  out  on  the  first  lap  of  his  journey.  He 
was  now  free  to  free  himself  and  he  must  guard 
that  freedom.  For  two  years  he  had  been  nothing 
but  a  pawn  moved  about  by  a  hand  over  which 
he  had  no  control.  He  had  been  ordered  to  go 
to  this  place  and,  snapping  his  hand  to  his  fore- 
head, level  with  his  eyes,  he  had  gone;  he  had 
been  ordered  to  go  to  that  place  and,  saluting 
again,  he  had  gone.  He  had  been  commanded  to 


1 8  BIG  LAUREL 

do  this  and  he  had  obeyed;  he  had  been  com- 
manded to  do  that  and  he  had  obeyed.  And  each 
time  he  put  into  the  task  assigned  to  him  every- 
thing that  was  in  him.  He  stinted  of  himself 
nothing.  Furthermore,  he  did  this  gladly.  The 
cause  was  worthy  of  his  best. 

But  this  did  not  mean  that  he  accepted  his  lot 
without  a  struggle.  The  only  discipline  the  pres- 
ent generation  of  Allstons  knew  was  self-imposed. 
It  is  doubtful  if  one  of  them  had  ever  received  a 
direct  order  until  Private  Allston  enlisted  at 
Plattsburg.  In  the  following  few  months  the  lat- 
ter received  enough  to  make  up  for  a  couple  of 
generations  —  blunt,  bullying  orders  that  roused 
the  fighting  blood  in  him,  until  his  intelligence 
came  to  his  rescue.  That  was  but  the  begin- 
ning. Doubtless  this  was  good  for  him;  certainh' 
it  was  necessary.  But  now  —  well,  it  was  good  to 
be  free.  And  if  he  had  ceased  to  plot  murder 
against  certain  superior  officers,  he  was  glad  they 
were  no  longer  about. 

It  was  good  to  be  free.  It  was  good  to  be  able 
to  take  the  right-hand  road  or  the  left  as  one 
chose.  Or  it  was  good  to  take  neither  and  stop 
when  one  willed.  It  was  good  not  to  get  up  in  the 


BIG  LAUREL  19 

morning  any  sooner  than  one  wished  and  to  go 
to  bed  at  night  when  one  did  wish.  It  was  good 
to  meet  people  without  any  uniform  to  tag  them. 
It  was  good  to  hear  them  all  speak  English  once 
again  —  even  though  they  did  it  brutally.  It  was 
good  to  find  some,  too,  who  did  it  rather  nicely. 
Like  the  young  woman  at  Valley  Elk. 

It  was  rather  an  odd  and  dramatic  circum- 
stance—  his  meeting  with  the  young  woman  at 
Valley  Elk.  He  had  no  intention  of  meeting  her 
nor  she  of  meeting  him.  Until  it  happened,  both 
would  have  said  that  it  was  about  the  most  re- 
mote probability  of  their  respective  lives.  Wilmer 
Howe  had  come  up  here  from  New  Orleans  with 
her  father  to  enjoy  a  quiet,  cool,  and  serene  sum- 
mer in  this  bungalow  Mr.  Howe  had  built  sev- 
eral years  ago  for  just  that  purpose.  Allston  had 
not  come  up  here  for  any  purpose  whatsoever  ex- 
cept to  try  in  passing  a  bass  stream  he  had  heard 
of  in  the  preceding  village  —  a  whim  scarcely  de- 
serving to  be  dignified  as  a  purpose. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  and  he  had  been  driving 
all  day.  Settled  back  in  his  seat,  he  was  not  as 
alert  as  he  should  have  been  so  that,  when  round- 
ing a  turn  he  saw  the  frail  figure  of  a  girl  in  the 


20  BIG  LAUREL 

middle  of  the  road,  he  had  no  ahernativd  to  avoid 
hitting  her  but  to  swerve  sharply  to  the  right.  The 
sudden  jerk  at  the  wheel  snapped  the  steering- 
gear  and  drove  him  into  the  bushes  against  a 
chestnut-oak.  He  had  not  been  going  fast,  but 
the  impact  knocked  the  breath  out  of  him  and  the 
broken  glass  of  the  windshield  cut  his  face.  He 
pulled  himself  free,  rather  a  sorry  spectacle,  but 
able  to  stand,  and  started  towards  the  young 
woman  in  the  road  with  the  rather  hazy  intention 
of  stopping  her  screams. 

"  Look  here,"  he  protested  feebly  and  brokenly 
because  it  was  not  easy  to  talk.  "  Don't  make  that 
noise.  I  'm  the  one  to  holler." 

Roxie  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands  to  shut 
out  the  sight  of  his  blood-stained  face. 

"Oh,"  she  moaned,  "yer're  killed." 

"  I  'm  not,"  he  insisted.  "  But  if  3^ou  keep 
making  that  noise  I  '11  wish  I  had  been." 

Miss  Wilmer  came  running  down  the  serpen- 
tine drive  preceded  by  a  barking  collie  dog  to  add 
to  the  confusion.  At  sight  of  Allston  she  too  was 
inclined  to  cover  her  eyes  —  brown  eyes,  large 
and  limpid,  and,  at  the  moment,  big-pupiled  — 
but  she  conquered  her  timidity.  The  collie  dog 
bared  his  teeth. 


BIG  LAUREL  (i.i 

"Tarn,"  she  called  to  him.  "Tarn!  Down!" 

Allston  straightened  to  attention  and  removed 
Ids  cap.  His  eyes  were  no  longer  on  Roxie. 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  stirred  up  all  this  fuss,"  he  apolo- 
gized. "I  —  I  think  something  must  have  hap- 
pened to  the  steering-gear." 

She  may  have  been  interested  in  the  fate  of  the 
steering-gear,  but  she  did  not  show  it.  Her  con- 
cern seemed  to  be  wholly  about  him. 

"  You  're  hurt !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Roxie,  still  moaning,  had  sidled  close  to  Miss 
Howe. 

"Oh,  it's  all  my  fault,  Miss  Wilmer,"  she 
choked.  "  An'  if  you  '11  let  me,  I  '11  run  for  the 
doctor  —  fast." 

The  prospect  of  action  seemed  to  inspire  Roxie. 
She  stood  poised  for  flight  —  her  frail  body 
quivering. 

"It's  good  of  you  both,"  broke  in  Allston. 
"  But,  honest,  I  seem  whole.  If  you  could  direct 
me  to  the  village  —  " 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  me  as  inhospitable  as 
that,"  Miss  Wilmer  said  hurriedly.  "  Our  house 
is  just  up  the  hill.  Shall  I  call  father  to  help 
you 


?" 


22  BIG  LAUREL 

He  tried  his  legs  again  and  they  seemed  to  be 
working. 

"  You  're  very  kind,"  he  answered,  meeting  her 
brown  eyes.  "  I  can  make  it  easily.  My  name  is 
Allston." 

She  inclined  her  head  ever  so  slightly  in  recog- 
nition of  his  introduction  and  bade  Roxie  hurry 
on.  The  latter  on  the  instant  flew  up  the  road, 
running  free  as  a  wild  thing. 

Allston  found  himself  making  his  way  by  the 
side  of  Wilmer  Howe  towards  a  grassy  terrace 
before  a  low-roofed  bungalow  set  upon  the  sum- 
mit of  the  incline.  Obviously  this  was  a  summer 
home,  designed  without  much  originality,  but 
with  good  taste  and  ample  means;  a  house,  he 
thought  at  once,  expressing  the  father  rather  than 
the  daughter.  He  would  expect  something  more 
distinctive  of  her.  Perhaps  it  was  she  who  was 
responsible  for  the  grounds  —  generous  and  well- 
cared-for,  bounded  by  a  hedge  of  balsams  giving 
a  trace  of  formality  to  the  enclosure.  And  yet, 
when  halfway  up  he  paused  for  breath  —  his  ribs 
had  received  a  bad  bruising  —  and  looked  below 
over  the  luxuriant  meadows  in  the  valley  and  the 
symmetrical  fields  beneath  the  radiant  sun,  he 
thought  she  must  be  responsible  for  all  that  too. 


BIG  LAUREL  23 

A  lean,  erect  man  with  white  hair  stepped 
through  the  door  of  the  house  to  the  porch, 
looking  very  much  disturbed.  At  sight  of  Allston 
he  hurried  forward,  walking  briskly  and  firmly. 

"What's  this  Roxie  tells  me.^*  An  accident.^" 

His  brown  eyes  swept  Alls  ton's  face  and  figure 
and  instantly  grew  sympathetic. 

"  I  hope  it 's  not  serious  ?  " 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  answered  Allston.  "My 
face  —  " 

"His  car  swerved  and  struck  a  tree,"  explained 
the  daughter. 

"That's  bad.  The  road  there  is  dangerous. 
Come  right  into  the  house." 

He  placed  a  broad  hand  beneath  Allston's 
arm. 

"  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  clean  those  cuts," 
he  advised. 

"  I  imagine  it 's  the  only  thing  to  do,"  laughed 
Allston.  "The  car  came  off  worse  than  I." 

"Fortunately.  Cars  are  more  easily  replaced 
than  heads,"  answered  Howe.  "  Wilmer  will  tele- 
phone for  the  doctor  if  you  think  it  necessary." 

"  I  'm  sure  it  is  n't.  All  I  need  is  a  chance  to 
wash  up." 


24  BIG  LAUREL 

Howe  escorted  him  to  the  guest-room,  pretty 
in  yellow  and  old  rose  chintz,  and  pointed  out  the 
very  modern  and  immaculate  bath  opening  from 
it. 

"  You  need  my  help  ? "  he  asked. 
"  Thanks,  but  I  can  manage  nicely." 
"Then  I  will  wait  for  you  on  the  porch." 
The  cuts,  while  not  ornamental,  were  not  se- 
rious. Cold  water  both  cleaned  them  and  stopped 
their  bleeding.  His  ribs  were  still  sore,  but  that 
injury  did  not  show.  He  rejoined  his  host  within 
twenty  minutes  very  much  improved  in  appear- 
ance if  by  no  means  restored  to  his  original  con- 
dition of  a  half-hour  before. 

Allston's  intention  was  to  express  his  thanks 
and  make  his  way  afoot  to  the  village  at  once. 
He  had  already  intruded  long  enough  on  the 
generous  hospitality  of  these  good  people.  But 
his  polite  plan  was  more  easily  conceived  than 
executed.  It  seems  that  neither  Mr.  Howe  nor 
his  daughter  was  yet  ready  to  believe  —  having 
brought  up  his  bag  in  the  interim  and  inspected 
the  machine  —  that  Allston  was  in  any  condition 
to  proceed.  When  he  came  down  he  found 
they  had  arranged  for  him  a  large,  comfortable 


BIG  LAUREL  25 

wicker  chair  before  a  dainty  tea-table  laden  with 
cool  drinks  and  cakes  and  preserves. 

"My  dear  sir!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Howe  solicit- 
ously. "  I  could  not  think  of  allowing  you  to  go, 
and  besides  —  where  would  you  go.^  " 

"  I  was  hoping  to  find,  if  not  a  hotel,  then  some 
kind  of  boarding-place." 

"There  is  no  hotel,  and  the  boarding-houses 
are  already  full." 

"That  is  a  complication,"  frowned  Allston. 
Then,  brightening,  "  But  there  is  still  the  car.  I 
can  sleep  on  the  seat  if  you  don't  mind  my  using 
a  portion  of  your  blue  sky  for  a  roof." 

"With  a  spare  room  in  my  house,  sir?" 

Allston  laughed.  He  laughed  pleasantly,  re- 
vealing fine  white  teeth.  It  was  a  better  voucher 
than  most  formal  introductions. 

"  I  am  indebted  to  you,  sir,"  he  answered,  un- 
consciously imitating  the  touch  of  formality 
which  characterized  the  speech  of  Mr.  Howe.  "  I 
am  indebted  to  you  —  and  the  chestnut-oak." 

But  his  indebtedness  did  not  end  there.  Prop- 
erly he  should  have  included  Roxie  who  entered 
at  that  moment  bearing  a  tray.  It  was  she  who 
had  first  swerved  him  from  the  main  road.   He 


26  BIG  LAUREL 

found  her  blue  eyes  upon  him  —  eyes  filled  with 
shy  anxiety.  He  smiled  into  them  good-naturedly. 

"All  through  crying?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered,  confused. 

"  That 's  good  because  it  was  n't  your  fault  at 
all." 

"It  was,"  she  insisted  with  a  directness  and 
positiveness  that  startled  him. 

"  Roxie,"  warned  Wilmer.  "  It  is  n't  polite  to 
contradict." 

"It  ain't  perlite  to  lie,  is  it?"  retorted  Roxie 
with  no  trace  of  insolence,  but  with  frank 
conviction. 

"You  may  go  now." 

As  the  girl  went  out,  Wilmer  evidently  felt 
called  upon  to  explain  her. 

"  She 's  a  treasure  and  I  don't  know  what  we  'd 
do  without  her.  We  can't  bring  colored  servants 
with  us  from  home.  There  is  n't  society  enough 
here  for  them.  But  I  'm  afraid  the  Mission  school 
has  n't  been  able  to  change  her  temperament,  al- 
though it  has  improved  her  English.  Somehow 
you  don't  mind  her  frankness  much  when  you 
get  used  to  her." 

"I  don't  mind  even  now,"  returned  Allston. 
"  She 's  honest,  at  any  rate." 


BIG  LAUREL  27 

"She's  honest  and  she's  good,"  nodded  Wil- 
mer,  serving  him  with  cold  tea.  "  And  a  firm 
believer  in  fairies." 

"  Is  that  to  her  advantage  or  not  ?  "  questioned 
Allston. 

She  hesitated.  Allston  was  on  the  whole  sur- 
prised at  that.  He  himself  might  have  hesitated 
if  asked  to  consider  the  question  seriously,  but 
he  did  not  expect  it  of  her.  And  he  was  more  or 
less  puzzled  and  interested  by  her  answer. 

"  If  she  'd  only  believe  in  bad  fairies  too,"  she 
said. 

"Nonsense,"  broke  in  the  father.  "That's  a 
paradox.  All  fairies  are  good.  As  soon  as  they 
aren't,  they  are  something  else." 

"Father  is  as  gallant  to  the  fairies  as  to  the 
ladies,"  she  smiled  with  evident  fond  apprecia- 
tion of  that  quality. 

"Wilmer  is  worried  about  a  young  mountain- 
eer who  has  lately  been  paying  his  attentions  to 
Roxie,"  broke  in  Howe,  throwing  some  light  on 
the  argument.  "He  hasn't  a  very  good  reputa- 
tion, it's  true.  But  I  tell  her  that  a  man  can't 
throw  a  woman  over  his  saddle  like  in  the  old 
days  and  make  off  with  the  lady  against  her  will." 


28  BIG  LAUREL 

"  Which  might  be  true,"  put  in  Wilmer.  "  Ex- 
cept that  some  of  these  mountain  folk  are  still 
living  in  the  old  days.  Bud  Chiiders  is  hardly 
more  than  a  cave  man." 

"And  he's  your  bad  fairy?"  asked  Allston. 

"  Or  the  something  else,"  she  smiled.  "  Fairy, 
good  or  bad,  is  rather  a  light  name  for  a  six-foot 


man." 


Perhaps  she  felt  the  conversation  had  swung 
into  too  personal  a  channel,  for  deftly  she  turned 
it  aside  to  the  more  general  discussion  of  the 
effect  of  Mission  schools  upon  these  people.  She 
had  rather  positive  views. 

Allston  listened  politely,  but  not  so  much  to 
what  she  said  as  to  the  melody  of  her  voice  and 
to  the  quick  play  of  expression  on  her  fine  face, 
particularly  about  the  mouth.  She  had  a  mouth 
such  as  is  generations  in  the  making  —  two  sen- 
sitive lips,  full  without  being  too  full,  thin  with- 
out being  too  thin,  balanced  nicely,  almost 
exquisitely,  above  a  firm,  if  rounded  chin.  Her 
straight  nose  matched  the  chin  rather  than  the 
mouth.  It  came  from  her  father  rather  than  her 
mother,  he  thought.  The  eyes  were  a  girl's  eyes 
grown,  by  much  reading,  a  bit  mature  before  her 


BIG  LAUREL  29 

time.  She  controlled  them  a  little  too  well  for 
youth,  perhaps,  and  yet  at  moments  Allston 
caught  in  them  flashes  as  wayward  as  sunbeams. 

Then,  somehow,  Allston  found  the  conversa- 
tion back  in  the  personal  channel  —  this  time 
sweeping  his  own  life  into  the  current.  He  felt  a 
certain  obligation  here.  So  as  briefly  as  pos- 
sible he  filled  in  enough  of  his  past  to  give  them 
some  slight  understanding  of  who  he  was  and 
why  he  was  here.  He  found  them  both  eager  lis- 
teners and  when  he  had  done,  the  dusk  was  well 
upon  them.  Howe  rose  and  extended  his  hand  as 
though  to  welcome  a  new  guest. 

"I  feel  honored  more  than  ever,"  he  said  a 
little  pompously  but  sincerely,  "to  entertain  a 
man  who  fought  for  democracy." 


CHAPTER  III 

Bud  Childers  sat  before  the  open  fire  In  his  log 
shack  on  Big  Laurel  Cove.  He  sat  alone.  It  is 
not  good  for  a  man  to  be  alone  unless  he  is  either 
poet  or  philosopher.  Bud  was  neither.  And  yet,  on 
the  board  table  which,  with  a  few  rough  chairs, 
was  the  only  article  in  the  way  of  furniture , the 
room  contained,  stood  a  bottle  and  in  the  bottle 
a  withered  branch  from  a  laurel  bush,  plucked 
just  beyond  the  ford  where  he  had  first  seen 
Roxic  Kester.  It  would  have  been  foolhardy  of 
any  one  to  accuse  Bud  of  expressing  here  a  poetic 
idea.  The  chances  are  that  he  would  have  ac- 
cepted this  as  a  challenge.  He  knew  nothing 
about  poets  or  poetry  or  poetic  ideas,  he  was  not 
that  kind.  Maybe  a  squirrel  brought  in  the 
branch,  and  if  any  one  cared  to  dispute  that 
statement  Bud  was  ready. 

But  no  one  did  dispute  it.  He  was  alone.  Being 
alone  will  play  strange  tricks  with  a  man  —  with 
any  man.  It  will  bring  to  light,  like  digging  in 
the  ground,  many  curious  things,  both  good  and 
bad. 


BIG  LAUREL  31 

Two  weeks  had  passed  since  Bud  first  met 
Roxie  —  a  disappointing  two  weeks.  Four  times 
within  that  period  he  had  waylaid  her  on  the  road 
before  the  Howe  house  and  walked  by  her  side 
as  far  as  her  home.  He  had  spoken  her  fair  and 
spoken  her  foul  —  losing  his  temper  once  and 
making  a  threat.  Maddened  by  her  stubbornness 
he  had  rested  a  heavy  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"Y'are  comin',''  he  had  said.  "Y'are  comin' 
if  I  hev  to  carry  yuh." 

And  she,  pulling  herself  free,  had  clenched  her 
two  little  fists. 

"  If  we  had  us  men-folks  home,  you  'd  be  slow 
sayin'  that,  Bud  Childers." 

Which  was  not  altogether  true.  Men-folk  or 
no  men-folk,  he  meant  to  have  her.  He  meant  to 
have  her  because  he  wanted  her  more  than  he 
had  ever  wanted  anything  in  his  life.  There  was 
something  peculiar  about  this.  He  had  desired 
things  before,  but  never  like  this.  If  what  he 
wished  came  easily,  he  took  it;  if  not,  he  forgot. 
As  long  as  he  had  a  roof  over  his  head,  a  plot  of 
land  of  his  own,  enough  to  eat,  and  a  little  money, 
he  could  always  worry  along.  Mostly  he  lived 
each  day  as  it  came,  content  enough  in  his  moun- 


32  BIG  LAUREL 

tain  kingdom.  Even  when  he  first  began  to  feel 
the  loneliness  of  the  nights  and  to  look  about  for 
a  wife,  it  was  with  indifferent  interest  in  the 
woman  herself.  His  interest  in  Roxie  was,  per- 
haps, even  at  the  start,  quicker  than  that  he  had 
ever  felt  for  others  of  her  sex,  but  he  had  not  an- 
ticipated any  such  desire  as  that  which  had  now 
taken  possession  of  him. 

He  had  wanted  her  first  because  she  was  a 
woman  and  he  a  man.  Then  he  had  wanted  her 
because  she  was  good  to  look  upon;  dainty  and 
clean-limbed  and  shy  as  a  fawn.  Finally  he 
wanted  her  because  she  Vv'as  Roxie  Kester;  be- 
cause she  was  herself.  Just  what  this  meant  he 
did  not  know,  except  that  now,  to-day,  he  felt 
she  was  the  one  woman  who  could  ever  break 
his  loneliness ;  this  new  loneliness  which  she  her- 
self had  created. 

It  is  one  thing  to  be  lonely;  another  to  be 
alone.  W^ithout  her,  he  was  alone.  This  did  not 
mean  merely  that  he  was  by  himself.  That  is  a 
negative  condition.  It  meant  an  acute  conscious- 
ness of  the  absence  of  another.  That  is  positive. 
It  left  him  not  content  to  wait,  and  impelled  him 
to  action. 


BIG  LAUREL  ^3 

Bud  was  like  a  child  in  his  impatience  over 
delay.  Patience  is  not  an  inborn  virtue ;  it  is  the 
product  of  high  development.  It  involves  self- 
control  which  is  the  ultimate  goal  of  civilization. 
Like  a  child,  too,  Bud  felt  a  desire  to  be  equiva- 
lent to  a  proprietary  right.  Wanting  Roxie,  he 
was  entitled  to  her. 

And  so,  sitting  alone  before  his  fire  rolling  and 
smoking  innumerable  cigarettes.  Bud  planned 
how  he  might  get  her.  To  him  it  seemed  only  a 
matter  of  gaining  possession.  The  future  would 
look  after  the  rest.  He  was  sure  of  himself  there. 
She  was  stubborn  and  as  full  of  fight  as  a  moun- 
tain wildcat,  but  she  would  tame.  He  even  smiled 
a  little  in  anticipation  of  that  struggle.  She  would 
tame.  He  had  broken  horses  and  he  had  broken 
men.  His  thin  lips  hardened.  He  could  also  break 
a  woman. 

Break  her,  yes,  but  after  that,  he  could  break 
any  one  else  who  tried  to  harm  her.  Once  she 
was  his  own,  then  valley  folk  or  mountain  folk 
had  better  have  a  care  how  they  trespassed.  He 
would  relish  the  opportunity  to  prove  himself. 
He  would  relish  it  at  this  moment.  God,  if  only 
he  could  get  out  and  shoot  for  her!  If  only  it 
were  as  simple  as  that ! 


34  BIG  LAUREL 

But  it  was  not  some  one  else  he  must  fight 
now ;  it  was  the  girl  herself.  She  had  heard  stories 
about  him.  That  was  the  trouble.  Well,  some  of 
them  were  true  enough,  but  they  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  present.  What  was  past  was  past.  He 
had  done  nothing  but  defend  his  rights.  Once  she 
was  his,  he  would  defend  her  rights  too. 

The  thing  to  do  first  was  to  get  her.  There  was 
just  one  way  to  accomplish  this  if  she  wouldn't 
come ;  that  was  to  bring  her.  He  could  not  carry 
her  before  a  minister  against  her  will,  but  he 
could  fetch  her  up  here.  He  could  keep  her  here 
one  night  and  then  —  she  would  go  to  the  minis- 
ter quickly  enough  after  that. 

Bud's  breath  came  faster  as  he  planned.  His 
face  hardened  around  the  mouth,  but  it  grew 
mellow  about  the  eyes.  To  have  her  here  —  to 
have  her  here !  It  was  something  to  grow  breath- 
less about  just  to  picture  her  —  say  in  that  chair 
over  yonder.  She  might  tear  at  him  with  her 
little  fingers;  she  might  cry,  but  even  so  she 
would  be  here.  She  would  be  part  of  this  room; 
part  of  his  life.  He  would  no  longer  be  alone. 

Then,  lifting  his  hectic  eyes.  Bud  caught  sight 
of  the  sprig  of  laurel  in  the  bottle  on  the  table. 


BIG  LAUREL  35 

It  was  like  a  bit  of  her  —  like  her  in  a  tender 
mood,  a  pleading  mood.  He  rose  and  paced  the 
room,  his  gaunt  shadow  following  him  silently. 
He  did  n't  want  to  hurt  her.  He  did  n't  mean  for 
to  hurt  her.  He  was  going  to  marry  her  all  right 
and  proper,  and  she  'd  be  glad  as  soon  as  she 
got  used  to  him.  He  'd  give  her  everything  she 
wanted;  plenty  of  new  dresses  and  money  and 
candy.  He  'd  go  down  to  the  village  with  her  and 
let  her  buy  all  the  new  furniture  she  wanted. 
He  'd  let  her  keep  the  house  clean  and  he  would 
wipe  the  mud  off'n  his  feet  when  he  came  in. 
He'd  aim  to  please  her  every  way  she  wanted. 
In  a  little  while  she  'd  get  used  to  him. 

So  Bud  planned,  and  the  sooner  his  plans  were 
carried  out  the  better.  There  was  n't  any  sense  in 
keeping  her  riled  up  or  in  keeping  himself  riled 
up.  To-morrow  night  was  as  good  as  any.  No 
sense  in  keeping  riled  up. 


CHAPTER  IV 

It  was  little  Tom  Culley,  weasel-faced  and  dirty, 
who,  for  a  pint  of  moonshine  whiskey  offered  by 
Bud,  took  to  Roxie  at  the  Howe  bungalow  one 
night  the  lying  message  that  her  mother  was  sick 
and  the  summons  to  come  home  at  once.  For 
the  previous  three  days  Bud  had  waited  from 
dusk  until  dark  only  to  be  forced  back  over  the 
trail  to  Big  Laurel  Cove  disappointed  and  alone. 
The  girl  had  not  come  out. 

Roxie  herself  might  have  found  difficulty  in  ex- 
plaining why  she  kept  so  tight  within  doors,  for 
it  was  not  wholly  on  account  of  Bud  Childers. 
True  enough  the  man  had  been  pestering  her; 
had  followed  her  home  against  her  will  and  made 
his  threats.  And  yet  when  quite  honest  with  her- 
self she  knew  she  was  not  afraid  of  him.  He  might 
pinch  her  arm  with  his  big  hand,  and  he  might 
scowl,  and  he  might  say  he  was  going  to  do  this 
and  do  that,  but  in  the  end  what  could  he  do.^* 
Once  she  had  cowed  him  with  a  smile,  and  once 
again  she  had  said  to  him  in  a  voice  hardly  above 
a  whisper: 


BIG  LAUREL  37 

"  Bud  Childers  —  stop." 

And  he  had  stopped. 

It  had  given  her  a  new  sense  of  power. 

Pie  was  more  a  nuisance  than  anything  else  — 
a  nuisance  at  a  time  when  she  wanted  to  be  left 
alone  with  her  thoughts.  If  Bud  had  been  able  to 
read  these,  he  would  have  waited  even  more  rest- 
lessly than  he  did,  down  there  by  the  ford.  There 
were  others,  too,  who  might  have  grown  restless. 

But  the  thoughts  of  a  young  woman,  until  she 
chooses  to  voice  them,  are  her  own.  They  are  her 
sacred  city.  Bold  adventurers  or  the  merely  cu- 
rious may  try  to  enter  through  the  eyes  and  guess 
what  lies  behind,  but  it  is  more  than  probable 
they  will  guess  wrong.  At  any  rate,  they  can 
never  know  with  certainty  if  only  the  lady  keeps 
her  lips  sealed. 

And  that,  Roxie  —  cross  her  throat  and  hope 
to  die  —  meant  to  do.  It  was  her  one  excuse  for 
not  at  the  very  beginning  running  from  her 
dreams  like  a  startled  fawn.  She  could  not  be 
blamed  for  getting  them  —  they  came  from 
around  a  corner  as  suddenly  as  Allston's  machine 
had  that  day ;  but  she  could  be  blamed  for  keep- 
ing them.  Way  down  deep  in  her  romantic  little 


38  BIG  LAUREL 

heart  —  where  half  of  what  she  knew  came  from 
—  she  understood  her  danger.  It  was  one  thing 
to  have  a  fairy  prince  safe  within  the  covers  of 
a  story-book,  where  he  could  be  shut  in  again  at 
the  end  of  the  day,  and  quite  another  to  have  him 
walking  around  the  house  in  flesh  and  blood, 
sometimes  within  arm's  length,  where  closing  a 
door  upon  him  did  no  good  whatever.  Because 
often  enough  she  could  still  hear  his  voice  as  he 
talked  to  Miss  Wilmer  or  at  least  hear  his  foot- 
steps as  he  strode  about  his  room. 

Allston  had  risked  his  life  to  save  her  life.  That 
was  the  beginning  of  her  dream.  He  had  done  a 
fine  thing,  as  a  prince  might  do  it  —  head  up,  a 
smile  on  his  lips,  and  quietly.  He  had  staked  his 
life  for  hers  —  even  when  she  was  at  fault.  And 
this  gave  a  new  value  to  her  life.  It  gave  a  new 
dignity.  One  moment  she  was  nothing  much  to 
any  one;  the  next,  more  than  a  king's  ransom  — 
a  king's  son  —  had  been  offered  for  her. 

If,  after  this,  he  had  vanished,  it  would  still 
have  been  safe  for  Roxie  to  dream  on.  Princes 
are  harmless  enough  until  they  begin  to  stalk 
around  in  the  daytime.  Then  they  become  dan- 
gerous—  however  well  meaning. 


BIG  LAUREL  39 

Allston  stayed  on.  This  was  at  the  suggestion 
of  Howe.  Certain  parts  of  the  wrecked  car  had 
to  be  sent  away  for  and  this  took  time.  Besides, 
there  was  no  especial  reason  why  he  should  not 
remain,  anyway  —  as  far  as  he  or  any  one  else 
could  see  at  the  time.  Both  father  and  daughter 
proved  congenial  to  him  and  he,  apparently, 
proved  congenial  to  them.  He  had  driven  far 
enough  to  get  a  certain  amount  of  restlessness 
out  of  his  system  and  the  idea  of  basking  for  a 
while  beneath  this  golden  sun  rather  appealed. 

So  Roxie  cooked  his  breakfast  and  served  it  to 
him ;  so,  too,  she  did  his  lunch ;  so,  too,  his  din- 
ner. She  cared  for  his  room  —  humbly,  grate- 
fully, almost  religiously.  She  made  his  bed  and 
smoothed  out  his  pillows  with  her  eyes  aglow. 
She  picked  up  all  his  things  —  he  was  none  too 
tidy  —  and  placed  them  where  they  belonged. 
She  even  polished  his  shoes.  He  caught  her  at  it 
once.  She  was  using  his  kit  when  by  chance  he 
came  back  into  his  room  after  some  forgotten 
thing.  She  did  not  know  he  was  there  until  she 
felt  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Roxie,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  'II  do  that  myself." 

Startled,  she  faced  him. 


40  BIG  LAUREL 

"It's  a  man's  job,"  he  explained. 

"But  I  don't  mind  —  honest  I  don't." 

"  But  I  mind,"  he  returned. 

She  dropped  the  brushes  obediently  and  he 
went  out.  Allston  had  never  been  able  to  accus- 
tom himself  in  France  to  the  sight  of  women  bur- 
dened with  the  tasks  of  men. 

Roxie  gathered  brown-eyed  Susans  and  placed 
them  in  his  room  —  secretly.  And  happily.  And 
when  he  came  downstairs  with  one  of  the  posies 
in  his  buttonhole,  she  felt  like  singing.  He  did 
not  know  she  had  picked  them,  but  that  made  no 
difference  to  her.  She  was  asking  no  reward  for 
her  service  other  than  he  had  already  given ;  other 
than  he  was  giving  her  every  day  he  remained. 

Allston,  for  his  part,  spoke  her  fair  always ; 
without  either  condescension  or  boldness.  She 
was  white ;  she  was  young ;  she  was  native.  She 
was,  he  felt,  in  every  way  entitled  to  his  respect. 
Even  to  the  Howes  she  was  more  like  one  of  the 
family  than  a  servant.  To  Allston  she  possessed 
the  added  interest  of  a  whimsical  personality  new 
to  him  so  that  he  never  missed  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  her. 

"I  suppose  these  folk  are  more  nearly  native 


BIG  LAUREL  41 

American  than  most,"  he  once  suggested  to 
Wilmer. 

"The  American  of  eighteen-fifty,"  she  an- 
swered. 

Hesitatingly  one  day  Allston  took  from  his 
wallet  a  dollar  bill,  prompted  solely  by  the  desire 
to  recompense  her  for  the  extra  work  he  felt  he 
had  occasioned. 

"This  is  for  you,"  he  explained. 

"What  fer?"  she  demanded. 

"  For  ribbons  or  anything  you  need.  I  've 
been  a  lot  of  bother." 

"You  ain't  bothered  me  none." 

"But  —  " 

"  You  ain't  bothered  me  none." 

"  I  've  made  you  more  work," 

Her  face  colored  as  it  always  did  in  spite  of 
herself  when  she  tried  to  talk  to  him. 

"  I  don't  call  that  bother,"  she  replied. 

"Well,"  he  laughed.  "Then  all  I  can  do  is  to 
thank  you  again." 

"That's  —  enough,"  she  said. 

As  it  turned  out,  however,  Allston  did  find  an 
opportunity  to  do  a  little  more.  When  Roxie 
came  to  Wilmer  with  that  message  from  Tom 


42  BIG  LAUREL 

Culley  reporting  her  mother's  sickness,  it  was  al- 
ready dark.  Even  so,  had  it  not  been  for  the  re- 
cent advances  of  Bud  Childers  to  Roxie,  Wilmer 
would  have  considered  the  walk  safe  enough  for 
the  girl.  As  it  was  she  was  a  bit  worried.  Voicing 
her  fears  to  her  father,  Allston  overheard. 

"  I  '11  go  along  with  her,"  he  suggested  on  the 
instant. 

Howe  demurred  a  moment. 

"  I  don't  suppose  there 's  any  danger,  but  those 
mountain  folk  are  a  queer  lot." 

"  What  do  you  mean  .'*  " 

"If  Childers  should  be  along  the  way — " 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  added: 

"  He 's  pretty  free  with  a  gun." 

"  That 's  simple,"  answered  Allston.  "  I  '11 
carry  one  myself." 

"  I  don't  imagine  you  '11  need  it,  but  it  might 
be  as  well  to  have  it." 

So  Allston  thrust  his  automatic  in  his  pocket 
and  immediately  forgot  it.  He  joined  Roxie  and 
she  led  the  way  from  the  open  valley  to  the  wind- 
ing, rocky  road  which  ran  along  the  thickly 
wooded  mountain-side.  The  hush  of  the  early 
night  was  here.  The  great  symphony  of  the  for- 


BIG  LAUREL  43 

est's  nocturnal  players  had  not  yet  begun  their 
overture,  awaiting  the  last  bar  of  the  catbird's 
vesper  song.  High  above  the  trees  a  full  moon 
furnished  a  silver  light  where  it  could  get  through. 

Roxie  was  as  surefooted  as  he,  but  instinctively 
he  steadied  her  with  his  hand.  She  was,  if  any- 
thing, less  steady  after  that  than  before.  It  was 
as  though  she  became  a  little  dizzy. 

"Am  I  going  too  fast  for  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  sir." 

Yet  twice  she  stumbled  and  would  have  fallen 
had  he  not  caught  her. 

"  Careful  there,"  he  warned.  "  It 's  a  rough  old 
road." 

So  they  came  to  the  bend.  Rounding  it,  the  girl 
was  the  first  to  see  the  dim  figure  of  a  man  on 
horseback  a  few  paces  before  them.  Against  the 
impenetrable  background  of  foliage,  the  sharply 
drawn  contour  of  the  rider's  face  stood  out  like 
the  countenance  of  a  monk  from  a  black  cowl. 

It  was  Bud.  She  could  see  him  only  dimly,  but 
she  knew  his  eyes  had  left  her  to  question  the 
man  by  her  side.  And  she  caught  the  slow, 
stealthy  movement  of  his  hand  creeping  back  to 
his  hip. 


CHAPTER  V 

Allston,  at  first,  was  not  inclined  to  take  the 
situation  seriously.  The  scene,  like  an  act  of 
melodrama,  was  not  sufficiently  motivated  to 
convince  him.  Here  was  a  dark,  scowling  figure 
of  a  man  on  horseback  planted  squarely  in  the 
middle  of  the  moonlit  road  —  a  villain  made  to 
order.  Clinging  to  his  arm,  Allston  felt  the  tight 
grip  of  Roxie's  warm  fingers  —  the  heroine  if  one 
wished  so  to  consider  her.  And  he  —  well,  it 
looked  as  though  he  were  cast  for  the  part  of  hero. 
But  he  did  not  know  his  lines. 

Had  this  been  France  and  a  year  ago,  he  would 
have  been  quick  enough  to  react  to  the  danger. 
The  world  was  at  war  then  and  he  was  tuned  up 
to  it.  Often  enough  on  night  patrol  he  had 
walked  straight  into  the  heart  of  even  grimmer 
drama  than  this  and  played  his  role  like  a  veteran, 
with  life  the  penalty  of  a  miscue. 

But  he  had  left  all  that  behind  him.  The  world 
was  now  at  peace.  It  was  surprising  how  quickly 
he  had  been  able  to  forget  that  trees  meant  pos- 
sible ambush  and  that  moonlight  in  open  spaces 


BIG  LAUREL  45 

was  a  source  of  deadly  danger.  Men  no  longer 
were  enemies  and  beautiful  young  women  no 
longer  needed  rescuers.  Civilization  had  reas- 
serted her  rights  and  bade  men  walk  once  again 
relaxed  and  at  their  ease. 

Even  at  this  moment,  Allston  viewed  the  scene 
more  as  an  effective  picture  than  anything  else. 
Bud,  lank  and  lean,  made  rather  a  striking  figure 
of  the  solitary  horseman  type.  He  had  jerked  up 
the  mare's  head,  and  she,  a  bit  frightened  by  the 
figures  in  the  shadows,  pricked  forward  her  ears 
and  snorted  impatiently.  In  the  silver  light  the 
two  were  rather  spooky.  As  they  stood  there, 
silent  and  immobile  now,  it  would  not  have 
greatly  surprised  Allston  if  it  developed  that  the 
rider  had  no  head. 

But  Roxie  Kester  knew  better.  The  man  be- 
fore her  was  no  apparition.  He  was  a  grim  real- 
ity. And  his  silence  did  not  imply  passiveness. 
She  understood  the  meaning  of  that  slight  for- 
ward bend  of  his  head  and  the  significance  of  that 
quietly  moving  arm  creeping  towards  the  gun 
at  his  hip.  And  she  knew  better  than  anything 
else  the  interpretation  Bud  would  place  upon  the 
presence  of  this  stranger  by  her  side.    Her  wildly 


46  BIG  LAUREL 

beating  heart  —  beating  like  a  frightened  bird  at 
the  approach  of  a  hostile  hand  —  told  her  that. 

Yet  for  a  moment  she  also  stood  transfixed. 
She  like  the  two  men  resembled  a  figure  cut  out 
of  black  paper.  It  was  as  though  the  night  birds 
had  also  come  to  this  conclusion,  for  softly,  here 
and  there  in  the  trees  and  bushes  roundabout, 
they  ventured  forth  once  more  into  cooing  calls. 

Roxie  was  the  first  to  speak.  She  moved  for- 
ward a  step,  and  thereby,  without  any  realiza- 
tion on  Allston's  part  of  what  she  was  doing, 
placed  herself  between  the  two  men. 

"Hullo,  Bud,"  she  said. 

"Hullo,  Roxie,"  he  answered. 

"  I  'm  goin'  hum  'cause  ma 's  sick,"  she  ex- 
plained. 

"Yo'ma's  sick?" 

"Little  Tom  Culley  —  he  sent  word." 

"Needed  a  stranger  ter  show  the  way,  I 
reckon?" 

"  He 's  a  f rien'  o'  Miss  Wilmer,"  she  answered 
almost  eagerly. 

"Then,"  said  Bud,  deliberately  —  "then  he 
oughter  stay  with  Miss  Wilmer.  It  ain't  healthy 
in  these  hills  —  fer  strangers." 


BIG  LAUREL  47 

Bud  had  reached  his  gun.  He  brought  it  for- 
ward, at  this  point,  rather  ostentatiously,  and 
rested  it  on  the  pummel  of  his  saddle. 

"  Bud !  "  cried  Roxie. 

But  Allston,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  reached  his 
own  gun.  He  had  no  desire  to  force  any  issue 
here  unless  it  proved  necessary.  His  instinct, 
however,  warned  him  that  he  could  no  longer 
keep  himself  in  the  background.  His  temper, 
moreover,  had  been  pricked  by  the  studied  inso- 
lence of  Bud's  reference  to  strangers.  When  he 
acted,  he  acted  quickly.  With  his  raised  auto- 
matic he  jumped  forward. 

'*  Throw  down  that  gun,"  he  ordered. 

Bud  made  a  motion  and  Allston  fired.  He  was 
a  sure  shot  and  he  had  learned  well  his  lesson  that 
when  any  firing  is  to  be  done,  it  is  well  to 
fire  first.  He  aimed  at  the  weapon  in  Bud's  hand 
and  the  gun  spun  out  of  the  lean  fingers  into  the 
bushes.  The  mare  jumped  and  Roxie  screamed. 
The  birds  in  the  woods  became  instantly  hushed. 
With  an  oath  Bud  checked  his  horse  and  turned 
as  though  to  ride  the  two  down.  But  the  auto- 
matic was  still  leveled  and  the  brown  eyt&  be- 
hind it  quite  untroubled. 


48  BIG  LAUREL 

"Steady  there,"  warned  Allston. 

"  You  ugly,  pink-cheeked  hornyhead,"  choked 
Bud,  "  I  '11  cut  yer  heart  out  fer  that." 

"  Steady,"  repeated  Allston. 

"  It  ain't  healthy  here  fer  strangers,  particular 
when  they  messes  in  somethin'  that  don't  con- 


cern 'um." 


"  But  when  it  does  concern  them?  "  questioned 
Allston. 

Bud  turned  from  Allston  to  Roxie.  She  shrank 
closer  to  her  protector  which  exasperated  Bud 
still  more. 

"Like  'um  pink-cheeked  and  white-fingered, 
don'  cha,"  he  growled. 

Allston  lost  the  last  remnant  of  his  patience 
at  that.    He  pulled  the  girl  to  the  side  of  the  road. 

"Now,"  he  commanded,  "you  move  on." 

Helpless  Bud  turned  his  horse  in  the  direction 
of  the  Kester  house. 

"Not  that  way  —  this,"  ordered  Allston  point- 
ing to  his  rear. 

His  voice  was  metallic.  His  words  were  as 
decisive  as  a  military  order.  Men  from  Gibral- 
tar to  Timbuktu  recognize  that  quality. 

Bud  swung  his  horse  and  with  an  oath  can- 


BIG  LAUREL  49 

tered  past  the  two.  Allston  stood  facing  in  the 
same  direction  until  assured  by  the  receding  clat- 
ter of  the  hoofs  merging  into  the  forest  silence 
that  the  man  did  not  pull  up  when  out  of  sight. 
Then  he  thrust  his  automatic  back  in  his  pocket. 

Almost  impatiently,  he  turned  to  the  girl.  He 
found  her  bright  eyes  upraised  to  his.  Her  pretty 
face  was  flushed  with  excitement — and  some- 
thing more.  In  the  tender,  softening  light  of  the 
moon  —  lovers'  light  —  he  caught  an  expression 
which  brought  the  color  to  his  own  cheeks. 
He  breathed  a  little  faster  as  he  allowed  his  eyes 
to  meet  her  eyes.  Her  lips  were  tight  as  though 
she  were  deliberately  making  them  tight  to  im- 
prison her  tongue.  Her  head  was  a  little  back  — 
a  quite  unconscious  pose  of  silent  supplication. 
Her  body  w^as  lax.  Her  arms  hung  loosely  by 
her  side  —  the  long,  slender  arms  of  a  girl. 

To  Allston  at  the  moment  she  seemed  almost 
a  product  of  the  forest,  like  some  delicate  fern 
bred  in  the  wild,  but  possessing  an  exquisiteness 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  most  skilled  florists ;  pos- 
sessing, too,  the  sturdiness  that  Nature  gives,  but 
which  the  hothouse  sacrifices.  Again  she  re- 
minded him  of  some  of  those  young  women  of 


so  BIG  LAUREL 

France  at  once  so  intensely  human  and  so  Instinc- 
tively spiritual.  There  were  such  faces,  passed 
In  the  day's  grim  work,  which  still  haunted  him. 
So,  he  felt,  this  face  before  him  always  would 
haunt  him. 

The  moonlight  —  the  moonlight!  The  silence 
—  the  silence!  The  hush  of  a  stilled  world  with 
all  harsh  things  made  beautiful  by  night!  The 
girl  with  eager,  motionless  lips,  one  with  the 
growing  things  that  bid  a  man  take  as  he  finds ! 

Allston  shook  himself  free  from  the  spell, 
breathing  deeply. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  it  —  It  is  time  we  went  on." 

Slowly,  like  a  drooping  flower,  Roxie's  head 
lowered.  Her  limp  arms  stiffened.  Her  lips 
tightened  even  more.  She  fell  into  step  by  his 
side  as  he  led  the  way  at  a  faster  pace  than  before 
along  the  mountain  road  leading  to  her  home. 

Where  the  circuitous  path  ended  in  a  clearing 
before  her  house,  Allston  left  her. 

"I  guess  you're  safe  enough  now,  Roxle." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered. 

"  And  I  hope  you  won't  find  your  mother  very 
sick.  If  you  think  there 's  anything  more  I  can 
do—" 


BIG  LAUREL  51 

"  No,  sir,"  she  broke  in  hurriedly,  "  I  reckon 
there  ain't  —  isn't." 

"  Then  we  '11  see  you  in  the  morning?  " 

"  I  've  gotter  git  yo'  breakfast." 

"Not  if  your  mother  needs  you." 

"  I  Ve  gotter  git  yo'  breakfast." 

"  We  can  manage  somehow." 

"  I  've  gotter  cook  you  hot  mufhns.  Miss  Wil- 
mer  she  cain't  do  that." 

"Can't  she?"  he  smiled.  "Then  we  must 
manage  without  them." 

"  No,  sir.  I  gotter  do  that." 

"Well,  we'll  see.  If  you  don't  come  I'll  call 
here  in  the  morning." 

She  looked  frightened. 

"  I  reckon  yer  better  not,"  she  decided. 

"Eh?" 

"  Yer  better  not." 

"  But  I  will,"  he  replied. 

"  Please,  Mister  Allston  —  that  Bud  —  " 

Allston  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  I  '11  let  him  do  the  worrying." 

"  Only  yer  don't  know  Bud.    He  don't  ferget." 

"  That  ought  to  be  in  my  favor  —  if  he  does  n't 
forget,"  he  suggested.  "  But  you  don't  think  for 
a  moment  he 's  going  to  keep  me  off  the  road  ?  " 


52  BIG  LAUREL 

"  No,"  she  answered  instantly.  "  That 's  why 
I  'm  afeard  fer  you." 

There  was  almost  a  mother  light  in  her  eyes. 
Impulsively  Allston  took  one  of  her  warm  hands 
in  his. 

"You're  a  good  little  girl,"  he  said  tenderly. 
"  But  you  Ve  got  worries  enough  of  your  own 
without  including  me.  Good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  she  answered. 

Her  voice  was  as  cooing  low  and  sweet  as  that 
of  a  night  bird.  He  dropped  her  hand  and 
started  to  retrace  his  steps.  Once  he  turned.  He 
found  her  looking  after  him. 

"  Good-night,"  he  called  back.  "  Don't  worry." 

But  Roxie  stood  there,  never  moving  until  she 
could  no  longer  hear  even  the  lightest  trace  of  his 
footsteps.  Then  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  stars. 
They  smiled  back  at  her.  She  thought  they  were 
like  his  eyes.  Only  they  were  so  high  —  so  diz- 
zily far  away.  They  were  above  the  house,  above 
the  trees,  above  even  the  heights  of  Cater- 
pillar Ridge,  above  Green  Mountain,  which  was 
the  highest  place  she  knew  about.  They  were 
almost  as  high  as  God.  He  lived  there  among 
them.    And  yet  the  preacher  said  that  He  was 


BIG  LAUREL  53 

always  near  —  right  around  us  everywhere.  So 
the  stars  must  be  nearer  than  they  looked.  So 
perhaps  the  eyes  of  the  Prince  might  be  nearer 
than  they  seemed.  Things  could  be  far  away  and 
yet  very  near.  That  was  confusing.  Also  it  was 
comforting.  The  puzzled  frown  left  her  face  as 
she  pushed  open  the  door  and  went  in. 

She  found  her  mother  busy  about  her  normal 
tasks  and  showing  no  evidence  of  illness.  But  the 
sight,  instead  of  bringing  her  relief,  roused  a  new 
fear. 

"  Tom  Culley  said  yuh  was  tuk  sick,"  explained 
Roxie,  as  her  mother  observed  her  entrance  with 
as  much  surprise  as  she  ever  showed  about  any- 
thing. Her  emotions  had  ceased  to  be  more 
than  the  ghostly  relics  of  emotions  long  since 
dead.  She  had  exhausted  them  years  before. 
Resignation  had  taken  their  place. 

"  I  ain't  sick,"  she  answered  with  a  slow  shake 
of  her  head.  "How  cum  Tom  Culley  to  say 
thet.?" 

Her  pale  eyes  squinting  from  a  meager,  desic- 
cated face,  white  as  wax,  listlessly  met  the  quick 
young  eyes  of  her  daughter. 

The  answer  was  clear  enough  to  Roxie.    It  ex- 


54  BIG  LAUREL 

plained  the  presence  of  Bud  Childers  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  road.    The  girl  turned  towards  the  door. 

"  I  'm  a-goin'  back,"  she  said. 

"Coin' back?" 

But  Roxie  sprang  for  the  latch.  If  Bud 
Childers  had  laid  for  her  such  a  plot  as  this,  the 
incident  would  not  end  there.  He  would  be  wait- 
ing for  Allston  to  return.  She  threw  open  the 
door  and  ran  out  into  the  night;  straight  down 
the  rocky  mountain  road.  And  as  she  ran,  she 
called  his  name. 

"  Mister  Allston !    Mister  Allston !  " 

There  was  no  answer.  Allston.  far  ahead,  was 
walking  fast. 


CHAPTER  VI 

As  ten  o'clock  came  and  then  eleven,  Wilmer 
found  it  more  and  more  difficult  not  to  respond 
to  her  father's  fears. 

"We  shouldn't  have  allowed  him  to  go,"  de- 
clared Howe. 

"And  yet,"  answered  the  girl,  "he's  the  sort 
of  man  you  feel  to  be  capable  of  going  anywhere." 

"  I  don't  doubt  his  courage,"  responded  Howe. 
"But  against  a  man  of  the  type  of  Childers  he 
needs  something  more." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dad }  " 

"He  needs  to  know  his  man.  Childers  has  no 
code.  If  he  couldn't  shoot  a  man  in  front,  he'd 
shoot  him  in  the  back.  Such  a  chap  has  one  idea 
and  only  one  —  to  get  his  man ;  by  fair  means,  if 
convenient,  by  foul,  if  necessary." 

"You  don't  think  Childers  means  to-^to  get 
him?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  Apparently 
the  fellow  is  infatuated  with  Roxie.  If  that  is  so, 
he'll  resent  any  interference  —  particularly  on 


56  BIG  LAUREL 

the  part  of  a  stranger.  I  ought  to  have  known 
better  than  to  let  him  start." 

"  I  doubt  if  you  could  have  prevented  it,  dad," 
answered  the  girl. 

"  It  was  my  duty  —  as  host." 

Wilmer  turned  back  to  her  book — a  Gals- 

f 

worthy  novel.  That  seemed  to  be  about  as  far  as 
she  could  get  in  it  to-night  —  just  to  turn  back 
to  it  again  and  again.  The  pages  in  which  ordi- 
narily she  was  able  to  lose  herself  were  just  so 
many  white  pieces  of  paper  covered  with  print. 
They  were  very  white  and  symmetrical  and  the 
print  very  black  and  even,  making  so  many  par- 
allel lines  from  side  to  side.  But  there  was  a  cer- 
tain monotony  to  literature  in  this  form.  It 
seemed  scarcely  worth  while  to  turn  the  leaves. 

In  the  two  weeks  Wilmer  had  been  living  in 
daily  contact  with  Allston  —  a  more  sustained 
contact  than  she  had  ever  experienced  with  any 
man  of  her  own  age  —  she  had  developed  a  very 
real  interest  in  him.  Her  life  for  the  last  five 
years,  since  the  death  of  her  mother,  had  been 
largely  devoted  to  her  father.  By  nature  quiet 
and  reflective,  she  had  found  this  sphere  adequate 
enough  on  the  whole  to  satisfy  her,  and  where  it 


BIG  LAUREL  57 

did  not  she  was  able  to  piece  it  out  with  her  books. 
She  read  a  great  deal  and  intelligently  without, 
however,  any  especial  objective.  She  preferred, 
generally  speaking,  books  with  an  analytical  turn 
and  modern  rather  than  classic  —  James  and 
Meredith,  and  the  younger  school  of  British 
novelists  with  their  intense  if  somewhat  vague 
passion  for  the  super-critical  and  radical  ap- 
proach to  present-day  problems.  And  yet  the  net 
result  of  their  influence  was  to  leave  her  rather 
more  conservative  than  before.  She  was  willing 
enough  to  believe  these  young  observers,  but  the 
effect  of  this  was  to  cultivate  in  her  a  rather 
cynical  distaste  for  actual  contact  with  the  life 
they  described  —  particularly  on  its  emotional 
side.  And  so,  though  her  home  in  New  Orleans 
still  remained,  through  her  social  connections,  a 
gathering-place  for  a  group  of  young  men  and 
women,  they  came  and  went  marking  only  so 
many  pleasant  inconsequential  incidents  of  a 
season.  There  were  several  young  fellows  who,  it 
is  true,  pressed  their  attentions  upon  her  a  little 
more  eagerly  than  others,  but  her  retreat  at  the 
beginning  of  each  summer  to  this  mountain  fast- 
ness always  discouraged  them.    They  preferred 


58  BIG  LAUREL 

to  follow  the  pretty  faces  which  led  to  the  gayer 
resorts. 

And  yet  Wilmer  Howe  was  not  without  her 
attractions.  As  far  as  physical  beauty  goes  she 
possessed  a  piquant  charm  of  her  own.  She  had 
as  pretty  a  face  as  any  of  those  who  had  pretty 
faces  and  not  much  else.  Her  brown  eyes  were 
like  placid  pools  reflecting  autumn  foliage  —  the 
deep  pools  one  finds  in  shaded  places.  Her  mouth 
and  nose  and  chin  were  modeled  as  a  careful  and 
sensitive  artist  might  model  them.  If  they  were 
not  as  quickly  responsive  as  the  features  of  some 
of  her  friends,  they  perhaps  inspired  more  confi- 
dence when  they  did  respond.  It  meant  some- 
thing to  rouse  Wilmer  Howe  either  to  laughter 
or  tears.  Few  had  accomplished  either,  though 
many  had  made  her  smile  and  a  few  claimed  to 
have  seen  her  eyes  dimmed.  A  handsome  good- 
for-nothing  from  Georgia  —  later  killed  at  Cha- 
teau-Thierry—  had  done  more  than  that,  but  he 
never  spoke  of  it.  He  kept  it,  to  the  end,  a  grave 
secret. 

Allston  was  the  first  man  ever  presented  to  her 
without  a  well-filled-in  background.  He  had 
done  his  best,  since,  to  supply  the  deficiency  by 


BIG  LAUREL  59 

casual  mention  of  his  mother  and  father  and  sis- 
ter, even  a  few  aunts  and  cousins  for  good  meas- 
ure, and  an  incidental  reference  to  the  ancestor 
who  settled  on  the  James.  She  never  questioned 
any  of  his  statements  —  except  her  father  she 
had  never  met  a  more  straightforward  man  or 
one  whose  ordinary  speech  she  was  so  ready  to 
accept  at  its  full  face  value  —  but  these  people 
to  whom  he  referred  remained  nothing  more  than 
shadows.  They  lacked  all  the  sidelights  that  mu- 
tual friends  throw  upon  such  a  group. 

Not  that  she  minded  particularly.  In  a  way 
it  w^as  rather  refreshing.  It  left  her  free  —  ut- 
terly free  —  to  discover  the  man  for  herself. 
Here  he  was,  undeniably  prepossessing,  straight 
and  tall,  clear  of  eye,  thin  of  face,  bearing  a  faint 
resemblance  physically  and  superficially  to  the 
lean  mountain  folk  hereabouts.  But  he  and  they 
had  chosen  different  roads  a  hundred  years  ago 
—  perhaps  a  thousand  years  ago.  A  passing 
glance  told  her  all  she  needed  to  know  of  a  man 
like  Bud  Childers.  A  decade  might  never  fully 
reveal  a  man  like  Allston. 

And  yet,  at  times,  she  felt  as  though  she  had 
made  wonderful  progress  in  even  this  brief  period 


6o  BIG  LAUREL 

of  two  weeks.  She  had  come  to  like  him.  She 
had  come  to  trust  him.  She  had  come  to  wait  for 
him.  And  now  to-night  she  had  come  to  worry- 
about  him. 

That,  on  the  whole,  was  a  bit  absurd.  She 
recognized  as  much  herself.  It  rather  vexed  her. 
Of  course  her  anxiety  could  be  justified  on  gen- 
eral humanitarian  grounds.  She  was  not  so  cold- 
blooded but  that  any  man  in  danger  roused  her 
sympathies.  And  this  man  was  her  guest.  More- 
over, she  was  indirectly  responsible  for  having 
placed  him  in  his  present  hazardous  position. 
Clearly,  then,  there  was  nothing  unnatural  in  the 
fact  of  her  being  more  or  less  disturbed  when  he 
was  two  hours  late. 

More  or  less  —  upon  the  nice  balance  of  those 
two  words  hung  the  fine  distinction  of  whether 
her  present  agitation  was  normal  or  abnormal. 
A  little  more  in  one  scale,  a  little  less  in  the  other, 
makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  The 
trouble  was  that  with  her  it  was  one  moment  a 
little  more  and  the  next  a  little  less.  The  scales 
refused  to  remain  stationary. 

And  her  friend  Galsworthy  did  not  help  her  in 
the  slightest.  Rightfully  he  should  have  bade  her 


BIG  LAUREL  6i 

shrug  her  shoulders  and  go  on  with  him.  He 
should  have  said,  in  effect: 

"  Be  sensible.  This  man  is  not  anything  in 
particular  to  you,  and  even  if  he  is  your  guest 
there  is  nothing  you  can  do  to  relieve  his  plight. 
He  is  only  a  figure  in  real  life  and  you  know  you 
are  not  greatly  concerned  about  such.  They  are 
merely  shadows.  Come  with  me  and  I  will  show 
you  the  substance  —  men  who  are  men.  I  will 
reveal  to  you  the  raw,  crude  inwardness  of  men. 
You  will  be  wiser  —  and  safer." 

But  he  failed  her.  To  be  sure,  she  refused  to 
listen,  but  the  fault  still  remained  his.  The 
function  of  the  artist  is  to  command  attention. 

At  quarter  past  eleven  she  put  down  her  book 
and  moved  restlessly  about  the  room.  Covertly 
her  father  watched  her.  There  was  an  expression 
on  her  face  he  had  never  seen  since  she  was  a 
little  girl  —  frank,  unrestrained  fear. 

"There's  a  full  moon  and  the  chances  are  he 
Is  enjoying  it,"  the  father  suggested. 

She  brushed  aside  the  curtains  and  looked  out. 
The  grass  was  a  stagy  green;  the  trees  like  the 
trees  of  Maeterlinck.  The  driveway  leading  to 
the  road  was  as  clear  as  by  daylight. 


62  BIG  LAUREL 

"  The  moon  is  full,"  she  nodded.  "  That  makes 
it  easy  to  see." 

But  if  it  made  it  easy  for  Allston  to  see,  it  made 
it  easy  for  Childers.  One  had  the  choice  of  get- 
ting comfort  or  added  fear  from  that. 

"Of  course  he  may  have  strayed  from  the 
road,"  said  Howe. 

"  It  is  possible,  but  not  probable,"  decided  Wil- 
mer. 

"Why  do  you  say  that? " 

"He  has  told  me  about  his  night  patrols  in 
France." 

"  He  had  his  maps  and  his  instructions  to  help 
him  there." 

"Yes,"  she  admitted.    "That's  true." 

«  Then  —  " 

But  at  that  moment  Wilmer  caught  sight  of  a 
figure  in  the  roadway.  Only  the  slightest  quick- 
ening of  the  movement  of  her  nostrils  revealed 
the  jump  her  heart  gave.  She  drew  back  a  little 
so  as  not  to  be  seen.  Then  she  waited  perhaps 
two  breaths  before  saying: 

"Here  he  comes  now." 

She  recrossed  the  room  to  the  table,  resumed 
her  seat,  and  picked  up  her  book.     It  was  here 


BIG  LAUREL  63 

Allston  saw  her  when  he  came  in.     Howe  had 
hurried  to  the  door. 

"Welcome    back,"    the    latter    greeted    the 
younger   man    heartily.     "You   gave   us    all   a 


scare." 


"  I  'm  sorry.  The  night  was  so  wonderful  I 
took  my  time." 

Wilmer  looked  up  from  her  book  with  a  smile. 
His  presence  w^as  enough  to  throw  her  back  into 
her  usual  calm.  Her  fears  of  a  moment  ago  hon- 
estly now  appeared  ludicrous. 

"You  didn't  meet  with  any  adventures, 
then.?" 

"But  I  did,"  Allston  smiled  back.  "  I  was  the 
hero  of  a  real  bit  of  melodrama." 

He  sat  down  crossing  his  long  legs  comfort- 
ably. 

Howe  appeared  concerned. 

"You  didn't  meet  Childers?  " 

"  In  full  force,"  admitted  Allston. 

Then  lightly  and  entertainingly  he  told  the 
whole  story.  And  yet  not  the  whole  stor>\  As 
he  talked,  somehow  Roxie  did  not  stand  out  as 
prominently  in  his  narrative  as  actually  she  did 
in  the  picture  the  episode  had  left  in  his  own 


64  BIG  LAUREL 

mind.  Rather  deliberately  he  was  slightly  reti- 
cent about  some  details  —  insignificant  enough 
in  themselves  —  which  had  registered  with  un- 
usual vividness  in  his  own  mind.  He  did  this 
partly  as  a  matter  of  personal  taste  and  partly 
out  of  respectful  deference  to  Roxie  herself.  He 
considered  certain  moments  in  the  nature  of  pri- 
vate and  confidential  communications :  for  ex- 
ample, those  few  seconds  after  Bud's  departure 
when  Roxie,  in  gratitude,  had  stood  there  so  si- 
lently in  the  moonlight,  her  face  uplifted  to  his. 
He  was  sure  she  had  been  moved  by  nothing  but 
girlish  gratitude  and  had  no  conception  of  the 
astonishingly  dramatic  picture  she  made.  Yet 
he  never  mentioned  the  incident.  His  conclu- 
sion from  this  point  on  was  matter-of-fact 
enough. 

"  So  I  took  her  to  the  house  and  then  came 
home — striking  into  the  woods  instead  of  keep- 
ing to  the  road." 

"You  were  wise  in  that,"  said  Howe. 

"The  trouble  was  I  discovered  my  gun  was 
empty,"  laughed  Allston.  "  The  last  time  I  used 
it  I  popped  away  at  some  squirrels  on  the  road. 
I  'd  already  wasted  the  one  shell  I  had  on  Bud 
and  I  was  afraid  a  second  bluff  might  not  work." 


BIG  LAUREL  6s 

"  Good  Lord !  "  gasped  Howe.  "  Bluff  is  a  dan- 
gerous game  to  play  against  that  kind  of  man. 
You  don't  realize  how  recklessly  they  kill.  They 
never  reckon  consequences." 

"Well,"  said  Allston,  willing  enough  to  forget 
the  whole  affair,  "  here  I  am  back  again,  at  any 
rate.    I'm  sorry  if  I've  kept  you  up." 

Wilmer  rose. 

"You  must  be  tired  after  your  long  tramp. 
You  '11  let  me  make  you  a  cup  of  coffee?  " 

"  Please  don't  trouble,"  he  pleaded. 

No  one  had  noticed  the  slight,  tired-looking 
figure  who  had  suddenly  appeared  at  the  door 
leading  from  the  kitchen.  Her  cheeks  were 
flushed  after  the  stumbling  journey  she  had 
taken  at  a  run  as  long  as  her  breath  held  out.  Her 
hair  was  awry  and  her  face  stained  where  she  had 
wiped  away  the  perspiration  with  an  earth-soiled 
hand.  Below  her  eyes  were  other  streaks  —  chan- 
nels made  by  tears  forced  from  her,  not  by 
maudlin  grief,  but  sheer  elemental  anger  because 
her  feet  would  not  carry  her  faster;  the  helpless 
rage  of  one  baffled  in  an  overwhelming  effort. 

"  Roxie ! "  exclaimed  Wilmer  as  she  caught 
sight  of  the  girl. 

"  Please^  I  '11  git  him  his  coffee,"  she  panted. 


CHAPTER  VII 

In  a  cane-bottomed  chair  beside  the  threshold 
of  the  post-office  —  a  flimsy  board  building  owing 
all  its  distinction,  like  a  dirty  uniform,  to  the 
magic  influence  of  those  two  letters  U.S.  —  sat 
Daddie  Ingram  during  that  social  hour  preceding 
the  arrival  of  the  mail.  He  himself  owed  much 
of  his  prestige  to  his  association,  as  postmaster, 
with  the  Federal  Government  —  that  vast  power 
which  makes  its  influence  felt  even  to  the  most 
remote  hamlets.  He  had  acquired  a  certain  dig- 
nity because  of  his  affiliation  with  the  Eagle  It- 
self. 

The  hot  sun  had  made  the  roads  which  cen- 
tered here  dusty.  Even  the  droning  insects  be- 
came half-hearted.  Flies  moved  listlessly  and 
became  lazily  indifferent  to  the  danger  of  hostile 
hands  moving  against  them  with  no  spirit.  Men 
slouched  up  to  the  weather-worn  porch  and  sank 
down  with  a  grunt,  drawing  their  knees  up  and 
tilting  their  hats  down.  Some  of  them  whittled, 
but  none  of  them  were  sufficiently  inspired  to 
attempt  any  creative  effort,  unless  perhaps  a  long 


BIG  LAUREL  67 

spindling  toothpick  sharpened  with  extreme  care 
to  a  needle  point. 

Over  his  befogged  spectacles,  Daddie  Ingram's 
faded  blue  eyes  brightened  a  trifle  as  they  ob- 
served the  approach  of  Mr.  Howe  down  the  road. 
He  spat  and  shifted  his  quid  in  order  to  be  in 
readiness  for  a  conversation  which  he  had  antici- 
pated for  several  hours.  He  introduced  his  sub- 
ject without  preliminaries  as  soon  as  Howe  was 
safely  within  range. 

"  Hear  that  young  man  up  at  yo'  house  had  a 
sort  of  run-in  with  Bud  Childers  last  night." 

How^e  was  surprised  —  unpleasantly  surprised. 
He  had  rather  hoped  the  affair  might  not  become 
current  gossip.  The  moment  this  became  public 
property  it  complicated  matters  a  good  deal. 

"  What  did  you  hear  ?  "  questioned  Howe  with- 
out committing  himself. 

"Wull,  I  heard  on  two  or  three  sides.  Yes, 
suh,  on  two  or  three  sides." 

Pausing  a  moment  he  added,  as  though  after 
mature  reflection: 

"  I  heard  it  on  tw^o  or  three  sides." 

"Childers  been  talking.?" 

"Ain't  no  one  heard  him  doin'  it,"  replied 


68  BIG  LAUREL 

Daddie  cautiously.  "Fust  pusson  I  seen  who 
knowed  anything  'bout  it  was  Httle  Tom  Culley. 
Said  old  Widder  Kester  giv'  him  the  devil  this 
mornin'  for  carryin'  a  lie  'bout  her  bein'  sick. 
Tom  said  he  told  her  who  give  him  the  message. 
Tom  he  went  to  Bud  an'  Bud  was  fightin'  mad  — 
all  riled  up  about  it.  Then  Tom  'lowed  he  was 
gonter  cut  up  thet  young  man  up  to  yo'  house." 

"  Well .? " 

"Bud's  bad,"  drawled  Daddie  Ingram.  "Yes- 
suh,  he  's  bad.  Yessuh,  he  's  bad  medicine.  That 
young  man  up  to  yo'  house  might  erve  needed  a 
gun  and  a  good  un." 

Howe  spoke  deliberately  now. 

"Mr.  Allston  is  just  out  of  the  army.  He  has 
a  gun  and  he  knows  how  to  use  it." 

"  Wull,  he  might  erve  needed  a  good  un.  Yes- 
suh, he  might  erve." 

"He  will  use  it  —  if  it's  necessary.  But  he 
IS  n't  looking  for  any  trouble  which  is  n't  forced 
on  him." 

"Looks  like  an  awful  nice  feller,"  admitted 
Daddie.  "  That  clever  an'  friendly.  I  'm  power- 
ful glad  he's  got  a  gun.    Better  carry  it,  too." 

Turge  Calhoun,  a  dwarfed,  fleshless  little  man 


BIG  LAUREL  69 

who  looked  as  though  he  had  been  long  hung 
upon  a  nail  to  dry,  looked  up  with  interest.  Then 
he  broke  out  into  uncanny  laughter  — '  a  piercing 
falsetto. 

"Turge  —  he  knows  Bud,"  nodded  Ingram 
phlegmatically. 

Howe  attended  to  his  business  inside  and  went 
back  home  frankly  disturbed.  It  was  clear 
enough  that  this  group,  while  not  actually  hos- 
tile to  Allston,  looked  forward  with  considerable 
pleasant  anticipation  to  a  second  run-in  between 
him  and  Bud.  They  intended  to  go  even  further 
—  as  far  as  it  was  possible  by  innuendo  and  goad- 
ing they  would  spur  Bud  on.  There  was  both 
amusement  and  excitement  in  the  situation  — 
just  as  in  a  cock  or  a  dog  fight.  They  were  no 
more  apt  to  consider  consequences  than  Bud 
was  —  less,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  they  them- 
selves were  not  in  danger. 

Anxious  as  Howe  was,  he  felt  quite  helpless. 
He  knew  there  was  no  authority  of  the  law  he 
could  invoke.  Officers  are  powerless  until  after 
a  crime  is  committed.  Moreover,  it  is  doubtful 
if  he  would  find  local  officials  sympathetic,  any- 
way.    It  was  even  more  doubtful  if  he  himself 


70  BIG  LAUREL 

was  in  sympathy  with  any  such  method  of  pro- 
cedure. Difficulties  of  this  nature  could  not  be 
settled  by  law.  Allston  would  be  the  last  man  in 
the  world  to  listen  to  such  a  proposal. 

Obviously  the  simplest  way  out,  if  it  could  be 
managed,  would  be  to  place  the  tv/o  men  beyond 
reach  of  one  another.  But  it  was  as  much  out  of 
the  question  to  think  of  shifting  Bud  Childers 
as  it  was  Green  Mountain  or  Big  Laurel  Cove  or 
Caterpillar  Ridge.  As  for  moving  Allston  out 
of  danger,  it  seemed  equally  impossible  except 
by  resorting  to  some  ruse.  This  course  was  as 
distinctly  against  Howe's  own  nature  as  he  knew 
it  would  be  against  that  of  his  guest. 

Howe  did  not  repeat  his  conversation  with 
Daddie  Ingram  either  to  his  daughter  or  to 
Allston.  To  do  so  would  be  only  to  frighten  the 
former  and  rouse,  possibly  to  aggressive  action, 
the  latter.  But  he  did  persuade  Allston  to  keep 
his  automatic  always  in  his  pocket  and  to  make 
sure  it  was  loaded. 

"Don't  pop  away  at  any  more  squirrels,"  he 
warned.  "  If  you  do,  reload.  You  '11  need  a  full 
hand  the  next  time  you  call  that  man." 

Allston  heeded  the  advice,  although  even  now 


BIG  LAUREL  71 

he  was  by  no  means  convinced  that  any  such  pre- 
caution was  necessary.  However,  he  had  toted 
a  gun  so  much  during  the  past  two  years  that  he 
found  it  no  great  burden  and  this  was  an  easy 
way  to  please  his  host.  And  Allston  was  anxious, 
in  every  way,  to  please  him.  He  felt,  each  day, 
under  a  greater  obligation.  He  had  prolonged 
his  visit  with  these  amiable  people  far  beyond  the 
limits  the  happy  chance  of  his  accidental  intro- 
duction to  them  warranted.  And  yet  he  stayed  on, 
for  every  time  he  suggested  that  he  was  straining 
his  welcome  he  was  met  by  such  a  genuine  pro- 
test from  both  father  and  daughter  that  he  found 
it  easy  to  drift  back  into  inaction. 

This  countryside  was  to  his  taste.  He  liked  the 
contrast  of  rugged  hills  with  fertile  valley ;  of  the 
primeval  mountain  growth  of  huge  chestnut-oaks 
and  laurel,  with  the  luxuriant  rhododendrons, 
tropical  in  their  leafy  richness;  of  the  cold 
streams  and  rough  roads  with  the  formal  order- 
liness of  this  well-kept  summer  place.  He  sensed 
something  of  this  dramatic  contrast  in  these  peo- 
ple who  had  come  so  unexpectedly  into  his  life. 
Bud  and  Roxie  set  against  Howe  and  Wilmer 
heightened  his  interest  in  both.    They  stood  for 


72  BIG  LAUREL 

two  different  periods.  And  yet  for  all  he  knew 
the  difference  between  them  might  not  be  as  great 
as  it  seemed. 

That  was  the  striking  fact  against  which  he 
was  continually  bumping  during  the  war;  the 
amazing  likeness  of  peoples  he  had  always  con- 
sidered so  essentially  different,  and  the  amazing 
differences  between  those  he  thought  identical. 
This  held  true  even  of  different  civilizations.  It 
held  true  of  different  historical  epochs.  The  past 
and  the  present  were  all  jumbled  together  over 
there  just  as  the  dead  and  the  living  were.  It  was 
sometimes  difficult  to  distinguish  one  from  the 
other.  And  they  were  easily  interchangeable. 
He  remembered  with  particular  vividness  an  old 
French  town  in  which  he  had  been  billeted  —  a 
town  dating  back,  not  years  like  towns  at  home, 
but  centuries.  If  anything  might  be  thought  to 
be  deep-rooted  and  fixed  in  its  associations  with 
the  past,  it  was  this  stone  village,  gray  and  heavy 
with  age.  And  yet  in  a  night  Allston  had  seen  a 
rude  interruption  of  its  traditions.  The  inhabi- 
tants had  been  hurried  away  to  escape  heavy  gun- 
fire when  he  and  a  few  other  officers  entered  the 
silent  streets.   Only  the  empty  shell  of  this  an- 


BIG  LAUREL  73 

cient  town  remained.  Yet  doors  were  open, 
tables  set,  beds  in  order.  Even  the  old  town  clock 
was  going.  It  made  him  jump  when  it  struck  out 
with  leisurely  resonance  and  indifferent  concern 
each  passing  hour.  But  the  population,  boast- 
ing kinship  back  to  Caesar,  had  vanished  in  a 
day  to  give  place  to  a  few  sprightly  young  officers 
bred  in  a  country  which  three  hundred  years  be- 
fore had  been  savage.  These  soldier  cubs  ate  at 
the  time-stained  tables,  slept  in  the  hallow^ed 
beds,  while  the  night  stars  looked  down  undis- 
turbed. 

It  was  not  easy  after  this  for  Allston  to  believe 
that  centuries  counted  for  much  towards  stabil- 
ity. It  was  still  more  difficult  when  a  little  later 
he  saw  varying  breeds  of  men  tearing  at  each 
other's  throats  like  jungle  beasts.  He  was  one 
of  them  and  tore  as  hard  as  any.  And  then  — 
presto  —  this  was  over  and  the  breeds  became 
polite  and  civilized  again,  and  the  ancient  towns- 
folk returned  to  their  abodes  and  remade  their 
beds  and  reset  their  tables  and  sent  Allston  and 
the  others  —  such  of  them  as  were  not  buried  with 
the  dead  centurions  —  back  to  their  own  young 
land. 


74  BIG  LAUREL 

An  experience  like  this  made  a  man  cautious 
about  fixing  boundaries  either  of  time  or  space. 
It  drove  a  man  back  of  history  to  a  primitive 
brotherhood  which  discovered  men  and  women, 
of  whatever  cHme  and  of  whatever  period,  to  be 
much  alike. 

And  yet  he  was  inclined  even  now  to  make  an 
exception  of  Wilmer.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to 
conceive  any  set  of  circumstances  which  could 
affect  the  cultivated  poise  of  her  calm  nature  or 
disturb  to  any  extent  her  steady  control  based 
upon  a  fine  intelligence.  It  amused  him  to  im- 
agine how  she  would  have  acted  under  the  condi- 
tions existing  in  that  little  French  town  so  sud- 
denly shaken  from  its  venerable  security.  He 
could  not  picture  her  then  as  any  other  than  she 
was  now.  She  would  have  remained  had  that 
been  possible.  If  not  she  would  have  walked 
out  calmly,  looking  upon  the  interruption  as  an 
ugly  interlude,  but  quite  unchanged  by  it.  But 
she  would  be  beautiful,  with  a  sort  of  saintly 
beauty,  both  In  going  and  returning. 

In  many  ways  this  steadiness,  this  assurance, 
this  complete  confidence  In  herself,  the  product 
of  a  ripe  development  a  little  beyond  her  years, 


BIG  LAUREL  75 

appealed  strongly  to  him.  She  stood  out  in  his 
lately  troubled  world  like  the  North  star  over  a 
stormy  sea.  He  welcomed  her  because  she 
seemed  to  guide  him  back  to  that  snug  harbor  in 
which  he  had  ridden  so  safely  at  anchor  beneath 
a  golden  sun  and  an  azure  sky  until  the  war  bade 
him  set  sail.  In  her  presence  he  was  able  to 
dream  pleasantly  and  lazily  again  as  he  had  in 
college.  And  rather  sentimentally  too.  This  was 
an  agreeable  surprise.  He  thought  all  that  had 
been  burned  out  of  him.  During  those  few  days 
at  home  he  had  been  astonished  at  how  unrespon- 
sive he  had  been  to  the  pretty  young  faces  about 
him.  But  they  had  chattered  about  the  war  and 
his  nerves  had  been  more  jumpy  than  they  now 
were. 

He  had  steadied  down  a  lot  since  then.  He 
could  thank  Wilmer's  deep  brown  eyes  for  that  — 
and  her  soft,  musical  voice,  never  raised,  but  clear 
and  distinct  as  a  silver  bell.  He  liked  to  listen 
to  it  in  the  evening  as  she  read  aloud  to  her  father, 
though  often  he  found  himself  hearing  nothing 
but  the  voice.  He  was  quite  sure  that  if  inter- 
ested in  the  text  he  would  do  much  better  to  read 
to  himself.     But  he  seldom  was  interested.    He 


76  BIG  LAUREL 

much  preferred  talking  with  her  when  she  had  no 
book  in  her  hand. 

He  much  preferred  talking  to  her  about — al- 
most nothing  at  all.  She  was  a  good  walker,  and 
they  used  to  start  on  long  tramps  through  the 
woods  for  the  neighboring  hills.  Always  it  was 
to  some  definite  point  like  Caterpillar  Ridge. 
Never  on  these  hikes  did  they  succeed  in  reaching 
their  objective.  Allston,  at  times,  felt  rather 
mean  about  that  because  it  seemed  to  disturb  her. 
And  it  obliged  him  to  adopt  the  rather  under- 
handed expedient  of  allowing  her  to  believe  that 
the  bit  of  gas  he  had  once  inhaled  was  respon- 
sible for  his  weakness,  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
it  was  nothing  but  the  joy  of  sprawling  out  lazily 
at  her  feet.  He  had  never  felt  better  in  his  life 
and  he  knew  it. 

He  used  to  pick  out  the  sunny  places  —  tiny 
coves  lying  like  pockets  or  mountain  nests  at  the 
foot  of  bold  rocks.  If  he  could  find  one  near  a 
brook,  so  much  the  better,  for  this  gave  him  the 
excuse  of  fishing  while  the  rippling  tinkle  of  the 
falling  water  sang  with  her  a  duet.  It  is  not  on 
record  that  he  brought  home  any  fish,  but  this 
was  of  minor  importance.  Your  true  sportsman 
never  fishes  for  the  sake  of  fish. 


BIG  LAUREL  77 

But  always  he  brought  home  something  —  if 
only  the  memory  of  a  dimpling  smile  caught  un- 
expectedly in  response  to  some  bit  of  fooling.  He 
liked  to  make  her  smile  unexpectedly.  It  was 
like  angling  in  an  untried  brook.  Her  eyes  were 
the  pools  —  so  deep  that  one  could  not  see  bot- 
tom. And  like  mountain  pools  continually  fill- 
ing with  fresh  water,  her  thoughts  ran  through 
them.  One  could  never  tell  when  a  smile,  like  a 
quick  trout,  might  flash  into  them  from  some- 
where, and  jump  at  his  bait.  That  was  worth 
waiting  for. 

So  they  sat  one  afternoon  just  off  the  road 
leading  to  Big  Laurel  Cove  —  not  knowing  except 
in  a  general  way  where  they  were.  It  would  not 
have  mattered  greatly  to  Allston  had  he  realized 
he  was  within  a  short  distance  of  Bud  Childers's 
shack.  As  far  as  he  was  concerned  at  this  time 
Bud  Childers  did  not  exist. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Bud  Childers,  however,  did  exist.  He  existed 
more  intensely  than  ever.  From  the  moment  he 
met  Allston  and  Roxie  together  he  had  burned 
Hke  a  man  with  a  fever. 

It  was  a  dangerous  fever  —  a  fever  bred  of  baf- 
fled desire,  of  jealousy,  of  hate.  Since  he  had 
been  old  enough  to  stand  on  his  two  feet  and  fight 
back,  he  had  never  been  bullied  as  Allston  had 
bullied  him.  Always  he  had  been  able  to  leave  his 
mark  even  if  meeting  defeat  in  the  end.  But  in 
the  last  ten  years  he  had  never  until  now  met 
defeat. 

To  this  humiliating  reversal  Allston  had  added 
the  insult  of  humbling  him  before  Roxie.  How 
Bud  ever  found  his  way  back  to  Big  Laurel  Cove 
that  night  he  never  knew,  for  if  ever  a  man  was 
blind  with  rage  it  was  he;  literally  blind.  He 
saw  nothing  of  the  rocky  road  over  which  he 
traveled,  but  he  took  it  at  a  gallop,  cursing  the 
mare  and  digging  his  heels  into  her  sides  when- 
ever she  paused.  He  turned  her  into  the  barn  all 
dripping  with  lather  as  she  was  and  never  re- 


BIG  LAUREL  79 

moved  her  saddle.  Then  he  stumbled  to  his  house 
and  locked  himself  in. 

He  had  not  waited  for  Allston  that  evening  nor 
attempted  to  trail  him  home.  He  knew  better 
than  that.  He  must  see  straight  and  have  a 
steady  hand  when  he  met  the  man  again.  In  the 
condition  he  was  then  in  he  could  not  have  been 
sure  of  his  aim  at  ten  feet.  And  he  meant  to  be 
sure  —  next  time. 

But  the  process  of  calming  down  was  no  simple 
one.  Hour  after  hour  he  paced  his  cabin  floor 
until  finally,  exhausted,  he  tumbled  into  a  heap 
on  his  bed  and  slept.  When  he  awoke  it  was  the 
same  thing  all  over  again.  And  yet  slowly,  out 
of  this  jumble  of  emotions,  two  finally  detached 
themselves  or  perhaps  absorbed  the  others ;  hate 
—  black  hate  —  of  this  man  Allston,  and  love  — 
fire-like  love  —  of  Roxie  Kester. 

Or  perhaps  his  passion  resolved  itself,  in  the 
final  analysis,  into  the  single  passion  of  love. 
For  Love  is  the  mother  of  every  passion,  and 
mother-like  shelters  all  her  brood,  even  those 
which  turn  against  her  and  eat  away  at  her  heart. 
A  man  may  hate  beyond  the  possibility  of  loving, 
but  a  man  may  love  and  yet  hate  at  one  and  the 
same  time. 


8o  BIG  LAUREL 

If  Bud  had  desired  Roxie  before,  he  desired  her 
with  a  fervor  a  hundred  times  as  strong  now. 
There  were  moments  when  she  drove  every  other 
desire  out  of  his  head  and  heart  —  even  all 
thought  of  Allston.  Whenever  he  was  able  to  let 
himself  go  utterly,  she  washed  away  even  those 
crimson  spots  that  danced  before  his  eyes.  It  was 
then  as  though  just  he  and  she  were  alone  in  the 
world.  Yet  they  knew  not  loneliness.  Two  only 
they  might  be  out  of  hundreds  of  millions,  but  it 
was  the  hundreds  of  millions  who  were  alone,  not 
they.  Because  they  would  be  up  here  on  this 
mountain-side  where  the  trees  were  many  and 
friendly,  where  the  birds  and  squirrels  would  be 
their  playmates  by  day;  where,  by  night,  the  stars 
and  planets  would  be  their  fellows.  Bud  was 
never  as  definite  as  that,  but  something  of  the 
sort  he  sensed  whenever  he  thought  of  her.  She 
was  more  one  with  such  things  than  she  was  with 
folk  —  even  as  he  was.  He  had  always  been  able 
to  get  along  up  here.  The  trees  and  the  denizens 
among  them  had  never  interfered  with  him.  For- 
est creatures  let  a  man  alone.  And  he,  in  his  way, 
had  always  been  kind  to  them.  He  had  a  feel  for 
them.   Animals  were  not  afraid  of  him,  though 


BIG  LAUREL  8i 

often  enough  he  lost  his  temper  and  abused  them, 
and,  when  necessary,  killed  them  without  emo- 
tion. But  he  spent  weeks  nursing  an  injured 
chicken  back  to  health  and  kept  an  old  gray  horse 
for  years  after  she  was  quite  useless.  No  dog  had 
ever  come  to  his  shack  for  food  and  gone  away 
hungry,  though  many  a  man  had  done  so. 

Bud  had  a  notion  that  it  was  not  man  who  was 
basic,  but  Nature.  This  new  love  of  his  —  for  it 
was  new,  a  development  of  his  initial  desire  — 
was  one  with  Nature.  It  had  to  do  with  elemental 
things.  Had  he  been  religious  he  might  have  said 
it  had  to  do  with  God.  But  after  that,  to  have 
been  consistent,  he  would  have  had  to  say  this 
black  hate  had  to  do  with  the  Devil. 

He  might  not  have  been  far  wrong  at  that. 
Whenever  it  pounced  upon  him  he  was  like  one 
possessed.  It  bred  murder  in  his  heart — the  lust 
to  kill.  A  dozen  times  his  eyes  had  burned  with 
evil  satisfaction  at  the  picture  of  Allston  in  his 
death  agonies.  He  had  heard  the  bark  of  his  own 
pistol  and  seen  the  man  crumple  up,  falling  to 
this  side  and  that,  his  eyes  rolling,  his  face  writh- 
ing with  pain.  Leeringly  he  had  looked  on,  watch- 
ing to  the  last  gasp. 


82  BIG  LAUREL 

Only  one  thing  had  stayed  his  hand  as  long  as 
this.  He  wanted  Allston  to  die,  but  he  himself 
wanted  to  live.  Never  before  had  he  considered 
himself  when  in  such  a  mood.  He  had  always 
moved  recklessly.  This  new  element  made  him 
move  cautiously.  To  die  would  be  to  lose  Roxie 
in  another  way.  To  have  her,  he  must  live.  He 
needed  years  to  satisfy  himself  with  her.  He 
might  need  years  to  satisfy  her  with  him. 

Life  —  the  ability  to  see,  hear,  and  feel  her  — 
he  must  retain.  He  must  not  jeopardize  a  second 
of  it.  When  he  shot,  it  must  be  from  ambush 
with  no  traces  left.  He  must  await  his  opportu- 
nity—  perhaps  contrive  it. 

The  opportunity  came  sooner  than  he  ex- 
pected and  with  no  contriving.  It  came  one  after- 
noon when  in  descending  the  mountain  road,  his 
keen  nostrils  caught  a  new  scent  in  the  still  air. 
It  was  tobacco  smoke,  but  not  of  his  kind.  It  was 
neither  plug  nor  Bull  Durham,  but  something 
more  pungent.  He  had  caught  the  same  spicy 
aroma  once  or  twice  when  the  summerers  were 
loafing  around  the  post-office  waiting  for  the 
mail  —  the  men  in  white  flannels  and  immaculate 
shirts.  It  was  the  kind  that  only  pink-cheeked 
strangers  smoked. 


BIG  LAUREL  83 

Bud  stiffened  like  a  pointing  bird  dog.  He 
stood  so,  listening,  for  almost  a  full  minute.  He 
regulated  even  his  breathing.  Then  slowly  he 
moved  his  hand  back  to  his  big-calibred  revolver 
until  his  fingers  gripped  the  handle.  The  feel  of 
it  calmed  his  twitching  muscles. 

A  light  breeze  coming  out  of  the  woods  on  his 
left,  where  a  branch  of  the  stream  which  ran  by 
his  shack  had  its  source,  gave  him  his  direction. 
He  knew  every  foot  of  those  woods  as  he  did  for 
miles  around  his  place.  He  knew  even  the  little 
cove  where  a  man  would  be  likely  to  stop  to  rest. 

Carefully  Bud  moved  one  foot,  looking  to  see 
where  to  rest  it,  lest  a  crackling  twig  give  warn- 
ing. So  step  by  step  he  made  his  way  among  the 
trees  —  taking  a  half-hour  to  go  a  few  hundred 
yards.  But  when,  through  the  branches,  he  made 
out  clearly  the  form  of  Allston  sitting  on  the 
ground,  he  felt  the  time  well  spent  —  even  though, 
to  his  surprise,  he  discovered  that  the  man  was 
not  alone.  He  saw  red  for  a  second  as  he  caught 
sight  of  a  woman's  skirt.  Then,  as  he  discerned 
who  the  other  was,  he  steadied.  There  was  only 
one  woman  in  the  world  who  had  the  power  to 
stay  his  fingers  on  the  trigger.  And  that  one  was 
not  Wilmer  Howe. 


CHAPTER  IX 

For  a  few  moments  Bud  Childers,  safely  hidden 
in  the  undergrowth,  studied  Allston  as  he  sat 
within  a  few  feet  of  Wilmer  Howe  in  that  sunHt 
cove  on  the  side  of  Green  Mountain.  His  long, 
bony  fingers  grasped  firmly  the  gun  with  which 
he  meant  to  kill  this  man.  He  had  awaited  his 
opportunity  and  here  it  was.  He  would  have 
gambled  a  hundred  to  one  that  no  power  on  earth 
could  swerve  him  from  his  purpose,  for  it  was 
backed  by  deadly  hatred  and  jealousy  and  the 
burning  hunger  for  revenge  for  the  deep  humilia- 
tion he  had  been  made  to  suffer  before  the  woman 
he  loved.  It  was  possible,  from  his  present  strate- 
gic point,  to  shoot  and  vanish.  His  guilt  might  be 
suspected  aftersvards,  but  no  one  could  definitely 
establish  it.  There  were  other  men  in  these 
mountains  besides  himself  ready  enough  to  shoot 
at  strangers  when  they  wandered  loosely  among 
the  coves.  Too  many  hidden  stills  existed  here- 
abouts to  make  outsiders  welcome. 

Bud's  face  flushed  as  he  watched  Allston  take 
leisurely  puffs  of  the  Turkish  cigarette  he  held  in 


BIG  LAUREL  85 

his  white  fingers.  And  his  Hp  curled  in  scorn  as 
he  noted  the  behed  Norfolk  jacket,  the  golf  trou- 
sers and  long  stockings,  the  shiny,  low  shoes  — 
all  marks  to  him  of  effeminacy.  But  the  smooth- 
shaven  face,  with  its  clear  pink  skin  showing 
through  the  slight  tan,  seemed  to  irritate  him 
more  than  anything  else.  His  own  was  dark  and 
tough  as  leather.  So  should  every  man's  be  who 
was  a  man. 

It  was  to  this  fellow  Bud  had  seen  Roxie  cling 
in  the  moonlit  road.  How  much  she  meant  by  it 
he  did  not  know,  but  she  had  meant  enough  so 
that  she  had  turned  away  from  him  on  the  very 
night  he  intended  to  claim  her.  She  had  turned 
away  from  her  own  kind  to  a  stranger  because  of 
his  store  clothes  and  his  lily-white  fingers  and  his 
pink  cheeks  and  his  school-taught  way  of  speak- 
ing. She  liked  'um  that  way.  He  had  taunted 
her  with  that  and  she  made  no  reply. 

Bud  raised  his  gun  with  care  not  to  disturb  as 
much  as  a  twig.  He  did  not  dare  wait  longer,  for 
the  sight  of  the  man  and  the  ugly  memories  he 
brought  fresh  to  mind  revived  the  old  fever  that 
blinded  his  eyes  and  unsteadied  his  hand.  Blood- 
red  anger  does  not  make  for  sure  shooting.  And 


86  BIG  LAUREL 

yet  he  must  not  hurry.  He  could  not  afford  to 
risk  more  than  one  shot  and  he  must  not  merely 
wound.  To  leave  Allston  crippled  would  be  worse 
than  nothing.  That  would  excite  only  sympathy 
without  definitely  ending  the  affair.  So  he  took 
his  time. 

Bud's  finger  muscles  had  actually  begun  to 
press  against  the  heavy  trigger,  his  bead  drawn 
fair  on  Allston's  heart,  when  he  saw  something 
that  made  him  pause.  It  was  a  simple  act;  All- 
ston suddenly  tossed  aside  his  cigarette  and  seized 
the  girl's  hand.  Bud  could  not  catch  the  man's 
words,  but  he  saw  Wilmer  Howe  spring  to  her 
feet.  He  saw  Allston  rise  beside  her. 

Bud  still  had  a  good  target  —  an  even  better 
target  than  before.  And  yet  his  gun  began  to 
lower.  This  situation  interested  him.  He  could 
catch  Allston's  w^ords  now. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sorry,  Wilmer,"  he  exclaimed.  "  But 
your  hand  was  so  near." 

Her  face  was  scarlet. 

"  I  did  n't  expect  that  sort  of  thing  from  you," 
she  answered,  avoiding  his  eyes. 

"I  didn't  expect  it  of  myself,"  he  said.  "Hon- 
est, I  didn't.  I  —  I  lost  my  head  for  a  moment." 


BIG  LAUREL  87 

*^That  is  just  what  I  didn't  expect." 

"  I  can't  explain  it  any  further,"  he  confessed. 

"  It 's  the  sort  of  thing  that  can't  be  explained," 
she  replied. 

There  was  no  quaver  in  her  voice  —  only  a  note 
of  deep  regret. 

"And  yet,"  went  on  Allston,  passing  his  hand 
over  his  eyes  —  "and  yet  there  was  something. 
It  was  almost  —  almost  as  though  I  were  in  dan- 
ger. Your  lingers  were  near  and  I  seized  them. 
That  sounds  absurd,  does  n't  it.^  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered  steadily,  "it  does." 

"  Perhaps  I  'm  more  used  to  absurd  things  than 
you,"  he  went  on  with  a  worried  smile.  "They 
were  always   happening  —  over  there." 
That  sort.^  "  she  questioned. 
All  sorts.  You  never  knew.  You  just  acted 
without  knowing  why." 

"  It 's  a  rather  dangerous  way,  is  n't  it?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  it  does  n't  make  it  easy  for  a  woman  to 
trust  a  man  who  —  who  acts  in  that  way,  does 
it.?" 

"  No." 

"Then  —  perhaps  we  had  best  be  going.' 


» 


88  BIG  LAUREL 

"I've  hurt  you  as  deeply  as  that?"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

She  started  forward  a  step.  Again  Bud  raised 
his  gun  and  covered  his  man.  And  yet,  even  as 
he  did  so,  he  felt  that  here  was  a  new  develop- 
ment which  he  ought  to  consider.  If  he  had  time, 
he  would  consider  it.  If  this  man  was  sweet  on 
Wilmer  Howe,  it  eliminated  him  more  effectively 
from  Roxie's  life  than  his  death  would  do.  And 
this  without  the  margin  of  danger  that  was  bound 
to  follow  any  shooting. 

Allston  hurried  to  her  side  with  a  cry  that 
made  the  girl  pause. 

"Wilmer,"  he  said  huskily,  "Wilmer,  if— if 
you  go  like  this  I  can  never  forgive  myself.  I  've 
acted  like  a  cad,  but  you  must  show  that  you 
trust  me  again." 

"How  can  I  do  that.^" 

"  Come  back  and  sit  down  where  you  were. 
That's  all  I  ask.  Sit  here  a  little  while  longer 
with  me  and  then  —  and  then  we  '11  go  back  home 
and  I  '11  pack  my  bag." 

She  met  his  eyes  at  that. 

"You'mean  — ?" 

"I  've  overstayed  in  the  Garden  of  Eden  —  by 
one  day,"  he  answered. 


BIG  LAUREL  89 

"But  dad— what  will  dad  think?" 

"  You  're  going  to  make  it  hard  for  me  to  face 
your  father  if  you  leave  me  with  the  feeling  I  Ve 
abused  his  generous  hospitality." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  feel  like  that,"  she  pro- 
tested. 

"Then  —  " 

Her  face  grew  even  more  scarlet  as  she  slowly 
moved  back  to  the  flat  rock  upon  which  she  had 
been  seated.  Allston  again  took  his  place  at  her 
feet.  Again  Bud  released  the  grip  on  his  gun. 

There  was  much  here  he  did  not  understand; 
there  was  something  here  he  did  —  even  better 
than  Allston.  It  was  clear  to  him  that  the  pink- 
cheeked  fool  had  some  one  now  in  whom  he  was 
more  interested  than  in  Roxie.  If  he  went  to 
Roxie  and  told  her  this  —  reported  how  he  had 
seen  Allston  hold  Wilmer  Howe's  hand  and 
heard  him  speaking  his  school-taught  talk  to  her 
up  here  alone  in  the  cove  —  she  might  change  her 
mind  about  this  stranger.  If  he  knew  Roxie  she 
would  turn  against  the  man  as  quickly  as  she  had 
turned  to  him.  She  would  hate  him  with  as  black 
a  hate  as  he  did.  She  would  see  him  as  he  was. 

Bud  was  not  much  given  to  diplomacy  nor  to 


90  BIG  LAUREL 

much  fine  reasoning,  but  here  was  a  suggestion 
that  appealed  to  him.  It  was  based  first  of  all 
upon  the  idea  of  self-protection  which  in  turn 
went  back  to  his  newfound  zest  in  life.  He  wanted 
to  live  and  he  did  not  mean  to  take  any  unneces- 
sary chances.  With  everything  in  his  favor,  a 
man  who  has  killed  is  not  in  as  secure  a  position 
as  a  man  who  has  not  killed.  There  is  always  the 
danger  that  something  unforeseen  may  happen. 
The  officers  had  rounded  up  Roge  Enfield  after 
he  knifed  Pete  Calhoun  in  spite  of  every  effort 
made  to  protect  him. 

Allston  might  get  out  of  this  country  at  once 
as  he  had  hinted  to  Wilmer  Howe,  or  he  might 
stay  long  enough  to  marry  this  woman.  He'd  be 
going,  anyhow,  before  winter.  And  either  way 
he  'd  be  leaving  Roxie  forever.  He  'd  be  leaving 
Roxie  just  as  soon  as  Bud  could  get  word  to  her 
of  what  he  had  seen. 

Bud  lowered  his  gun.  It  was  too  bad  to  miss 
a  dead-sure  thing  like  this,  but  the  new  plan  was 
worth  trying.  If  it  was  not  as  satisfactory  in 
many  ways  as  shooting,  it  was  safer. 

When  Bud  took  his  first  careful  step  back 
through  the  bushes,  it  marked  a  significant  stage 


BIG  LAUREL  91 

in  his  development.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  had  allowed  Reason  to  dictate  to  passion.  His 
im_pulse  still  was  to  kill.  In  not  obeying  it  he  was 
making  a  real  personal  sacrifice.  And  though 
fundamentally  he  was  governed  by  selfish  mo- 
tives—  perhaps  reason  makes  for  selfishness  —  he 
was  also  allowing  the  interests  of  another  to  play 
a  part  in  his  decision.  However  indirectly,  he 
was  considering  Roxie  to  a  degree.  If  his  chief 
concern  was  with  the  happiness  she  would  bring 
him,  he  w^as  also  honestly  convinced  that  it  was 
within  his  power  to  bring  happiness  to  her.  He 
was  going  to  allow  her  to  go  to  the  village  and  buy 
whatever  she  wished  —  calico  for  dresses,  ribbons 
for  her  hair,  candy  and  everything.  Within  a 
week  he  had  got  his  eye  on  another  horse  that 
would  be  good  for  her  to  ride.  And  he  was  going 
to  wipe  his  feet  whenever  he  came  into  the  house. 
And  wash  his  hands  if  she  insisted  upon  it.  All 
those  hopes  contributed  towards  his  desire  to  live 
—  made  him  willing  to  give  up  his  desire  to  kill 
when  this  conflicted  with  those  other  interests. 

Step  by  step  Bud  felt  his  way  back  to  the  road. 
And  then,  walking  free  and  easy,  undisturbed 
now  by  the  noise  of  his  firm  feet  crunching  twig 


92  BIG  LAUREL 

and  rock,  he  returned  to  his  shack  on  Big  Laurel. 
He  went  about  his  farm  work  whistling.  It  was 
something  of  a  relief  not  to  care  who  heard  him. 


CHAPTER  X 

For  centuries  philosophers  have  attempted  to 
disentangle  dreams  from  reality  and  to  fix  definite 
boundaries  between  the  two.  They  have  not 
found  it  easy.  It  is  doubtful  whether,  even  if  pos- 
sible, this  would  prove  worth  while  except  for 
the  satisfaction  it  would  bring  the  philosophers. 
Probably  when  the  latter  are  all  done  with  their 
grave  conclusions  people  will  continue  to  mix  the 
two  agreeably  to  their  own  lives. 

If  deep-browed  academicians  have  found  the 
task  of  separation  difficult,  certainly  Roxie  Kes- 
ter  cannot  be  blamed  if  she  did  not  succeed  and 
so  kept  right  on  with  her  dreaming.  Particularly 
after  that  wonderful  evening  when  Allston  stood 
by  her  side  like  a  veritable  knight  of  old.  For  he 
had  seemed  to  her  then  nothing  short  of  magnifi- 
cent. And  yet,  unlike  most  magnificent  things  in 
her  life  —  such  as  story-book  heroes  and  angels 
and  gallant  men  of  whom  she  read  in  the  papers 
during  the  war  —  not  remote.  He  had  been  near 
enough  to  touch.  He  had  touched  her ;  had  held 
her  hands  for  a  moment.  How  the  stars  had  swam 


94  BIG  LAUREL 

before  her  then !  How  close,  at  that  moment,  her 
dreams  had  seemed  to  reality.  She  had  been 
ready  to  give  herself  up  to  them  utterly.  She  had 
been  ready  to  give  herself  up  to  him  had  he  but 
asked  or,  not  even  asking,  had  taken.  A  little 
later,  recalling  her  emotion,  she  had  grown  big- 
eyed,  but  she  did  not  deny  the  fact.  She  had  been 
quite  helpless.  And  she  was  not  ashamed  of  it. 
He  had  fought  for  her,  twice  risked  his  life  for 
her,  and  she  w^as  his  if  he  wished.  Not  that  she 
had  any  very  definite  idea  of  what  that  meant. 
Few  of  her  ideas  were  definite.  They  were 
scarcely  more  than  instincts,  warning  her  here 
and  urging  her  on  there,  but  always  proving 
themselves  sound  and  sweet  and  true. 

Roxie  thought  of  love  as  she  thought  of  Heaven 
—  a  condition  of  complete  happiness  necessarily 
obscure  until  actually  experienced.  It  was  quite 
detached  from  marriage,  or  marriage,  at  any  rate, 
as  she  saw  it  exemplified  in  the  lives  about  her. 
Here  it  meant  housekeeping  and  scarcely  any- 
thing more  than  housekeeping.  Marriage  marked 
the  end  of  youth ;  the  beginning  of  old  age.  It 
was  a  serious,  more  or  less  matter-of-fact  estate 
into  which  women   entered,   not   because   they 


BIG  LAUREL  95 

wished,  but  because  it  was  inevitable.  It  was 
what  Bud  Childers  had  proposed  for  her.  It  was 
what,  for  the  time  being  at  any  rate,  Allston  had 
saved  her  from. 

Love  was  something  entirely  different ;  as  dif- 
ferent as  poetry  from  prose;  as  different  as 
dreams  from  reality.  It  even  turned  prose  into 
poetry  and  reality  into  dreams.  It  glorified  every- 
thing like  spring.  It  made  flowers  grow  beneath 
her  feet;  made  the  birds  break  forth  into  song 
when  she  walked  abroad;  it  deepened  the  blue 
of  the  sky  and  burnished  the  gold  of  the  sun ;  it 
put  her  in  touch  ever}^vhere  with  the  beautiful. 
It  even  brought  out  the  beauty  in  her  own  face 
and  figure. 

Roxie  was  not  vain,  although  she  knew  well 
enough  she  compared  favorably  with  other  girls 
in  the  village.  But  lately,  when  standing  before 
the  mirror  while  doing  her  hair  for  the  night,  she 
had  looked  at  herself  a  little  more  critically.  And 
with  a  thrill  of  pride  she  had  not  discovered  much 
with  which  to  find  fault.  Her  light  hair  was  long 
and  silken  and  responded  with  an  added  sheen 
to  the  careful  combing  she  now  gave  it.  Her  blue 
eyes  stared  back  at  her  with  a  new  light  which 


96  BIG  LAUREL 

quickened  them.  Her  skin  was  clear  and  though 
slightly  more  tanned  than  Miss  Wilmer's  had  a 
creamy  bloom  the  latter  lacked.  Her  nose  and 
mouth  and  chin  were  not  much  and  yet  not  badly 
modeled.  Her  teeth  were  large  and  not  as  pearly 
white  as  Miss  Wilmer's,  but  they  were  strong 
and,  ever  since  the  teacher  at  school  had  taught 
her  to  use  a  toothbrush,  had  improved.  Her  body 
was  lithe  and  firm,  but  she  did  not  think  much 
about  that.  Except,  she  could  not  help  but  no- 
tice, she  looked  her  best  when  in  her  long  white 
night-robe  which  gave  her  full  freedom  and  re- 
vealed the  fine  curves  of  her  neck  and  her  slight, 
rounded  arms.  She  blushed  even  as  she  noted 
this  and  was  glad  enough  to  blow  out  her  lamp 
and  shelter  herself  in  the  dark. 

She  awoke  every  morning  as  fresh  and  clear- 
visioned  as  the  dawn.  She  awoke  with  the  physi- 
cal vigor  of  a  young  animal  ready  to  frolic  and 
with  her  eyes  wide  open.  She  dressed  as  quickly 
as  a  boy  and  went  down  to  her  tasks  with  a  song 
in  her  heart.  For  she  was  kindling  the  morning 
fire,  not  for  Miss  Wilmer,  but  for  Allston.  She 
threw  open  windows  to  let  in  the  cool,  fragrant 
new  air,  not  for  her  mistress,  but  for  him.   For 


BIG  LAUREL  97 

him  she  started  the  kettle  to  boiling  and  for  him 
mixed  her  batter  for  hot  bread.  This  was  his 
house.  He  was  the  host  and  the  others  guests. 

At  odd  times  he  stepped  into  the  kitchen  to  say 
Hello.  That  was  something  to  look  forward  to 
and  later  to  remember.  She  made  it  a  point  al- 
ways to  be  wearing  a  clean  gingham  apron. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said  to  her,  dropping  in 
just  before  supper,  "  you  look  as  though  you 
grew  in  the  field  like  the  daisies  and  some  one 
plucked  you  fresh  every  day.  You  sure  that  is  n't 
true.^  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Flowers  are  pretty,  but  they  don't  last  long," 
she  said. 

"And  3^et  they  are  everywhere.  They  were 
even  in  France  —  on  the  battle-fields." 

Roxie  often  carried  Allston's  thoughts  back  to 
those  days  by  suggestions  of  one  kind  and  an- 
other. And  he  never  resented  this.  She  never 
made  him  feel  that  he  was  recalling  past  events 
for  the  entertainment  of  an  outsider.  It  was 
more  as  though  she  helped  him  live  over  again 
the  pleasanter  details.  She  accepted  them  as  he 
had  done  at  the  time,  simply  and  naively. 


98  BIG  LAUREL 

"But  I  don't  know  if  it's  any  stranger  to  find 
them  in  France  than  in  my  room  every  day,"  he 
went  on  with  a  smile.  "  How  do  they  get  on  my 
table?" 

"I  put  them  there,"  she  answered  directly. 
"Don't  you  like  them?  " 

"  Very  much.  It 's  mighty  kind  of  you,  Roxie. 
About  this  time,  three  years  back,  there  was  a 
lady  in  France  who  used  to  do  that  for  me." 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"A  girl?"  she  asked. 

"A  lady  —  a  very  old  lady." 

"  Oh." 

"  But  the  flowers  were  young.  Flowers  are  al- 
ways young,  aren't  they?*' 

"Until  they  die." 

"  Who  knows  ?  They  may  be  young  after  that." 
Maybe,"  she  nodded  seriously. 
How  old  are  you?" 

"Eighteen.  How  old  are  you?" 

"  Twenty-four." 

"  Seems  like  you  was  younger." 

"  Is  that  very  old,  Roxie?  " 

"  No,  sir,  that  ain't  very  old,"  she  hastened  to 
assure  him,  fearing  she  had  offended.   "No,  sir. 


6( 


BIG  LAUREL  99 

only  seems  like  I  'd  be  old  when  I  was  twenty- 
four." 

"  I  doubt  it  —  if  you  keep  growing  in  the  field. 
You  '11  come  up  every  spring." 

"Seems  sometimes  like  it  was  spring  always." 

"What.?"  he  questioned.  "That  sounds  as 
though  you  were  in  love." 

Her  cheeks  flamed  scarlet  at  that.  He  noticed 
it  before  she  could  turn.  He  studied  her  pretty 
back  as  she  bent  her  head  over  her  work  and  the 
curv^e  of  her  neck  where  the  soft  hair  grows. 

"Roxie,"  he  said  without  moving,  in  a  lowered 
voice,  "  is  love  like  that?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  she  answered  weakly. 

He  scarcely  heard  her  reply.  His  thoughts  this 
time  had  gone  back,  not  to  France,  but  to  a  tiny 
sunlit  cove  on  the  mountain-side;  to  the  impul- 
sive clasp  of  a  warm  hand  which  had  left  him 
worried  ever  since. 

"  It  might  be  like  that,"  he  said.  "  That 's  what 
the  poets  are  always  singing,  isn't  it?" 

"  I  dunno,"  she  repeated. 

He  roused  himself. 

"  I  don't  know  either,"  he  said.  "  But  perhaps 
some  day  we  may  find  out  —  both  of  us.  It  sounds 
reasonable,  anyhow." 


loo  BIG  LAUREL 

He  went  out  leaving  Roxie  alone  with  her 
burning  thoughts  while  he  reviewed  his  own. 

It  would  seem  that  with  all  that  has  been 
written  about  love  by  both  philosophers  and  ro- 
manticists ;  with  all  the  lovers  there  have  been  in 
the  world  since  the  world  began  Vvho  have  re- 
corded their  experiences  in  song  and  story  and 
memoirs ;  with  all  that  a  man  sees  and  hears  of 
love  with  his  own  ears  and  his  own  eyes  before 
he  has  reached  twenty,  there  should  be  little 
chance  left  for  speculation  on  the  part  of  any  one. 
And  yet  here  was  Allston,  who  had  read  a  good 
bit  and  had  seen  a  good  bit,  unable  to  recognize 
it  either  in  himself  or  in  others.  It  was  as  though 
he  found  himself  in  some  newly  discovered  land 
about  which  he  must  feel  his  way  cautiously  lest 
he  lose  his  direction.  It  was  as  though  he  were 
upon  some  untried  venture. 

He  had,  of  course,  a  sentimental  notion  of 
what  love  meant,  but  this  did  not  seem  to  the 
point.  It  was  not  that  which  had  made  him  reach 
for  Wilmer's  hand.  He  had  said  at  the  time  he 
could  not  explain  his  act,  and  that  was  true.  His 
impulse  had  come  from  deep  within.  But  stranger 
than  this  was  the  effect  this  brief  contact  pro- 


BIG  LAUREL  loi 

duced  in  him.  The  effrontery  of  it,  which  had  at 
first  startled  them  both,  she  seemed  ready  to  for- 
give, and  this,  in  turn,  allowed  him  to  forget  that 
crass  feature.  But  this  by  no  means  settled  the 
matter.  Their  relations  were  not  what  they  had 
been  before.  He  saw  this  in  her  eyes  suddenly 
grown  timid;  he  felt  it  in  his  own  changed  atti- 
tude when  with  her. 

She  had  become,  he  would  have  said,  more  hu- 
man. Until  now  she  had  been  no  more  than  an 
intellectual  pastime,  like  a  pleasant  and  not  too 
baffling  problem  in  chess.  He  had  enjoyed  mov- 
ing this  way  and  that  in  order  to  see  how  she 
would  respond.  When  he  made  her  smile,  he  felt 
that  he  had  scored  Check,  although  more  often 
than  not  she  moved  easily  out  of  danger.  This 
seemed  like  an  amusing  and  safe  diversion  for 
them  both.  With  nothing  at  stake  it  mattered 
little  who  won. 

But  the  touch  of  her  warm  fingers  —  brief  as  it 
was  —  had  proved  her  of  flesh  and  blood.  It 
seemed  strange  after  this  that  he  had  ever 
doubted  it.  On  the  walk  home  from  the  cove  that 
late  afternoon  he  was  conscious  of  it  every  min- 
ute. He  saw  her  try  to  resume  the  old  game  at 
the  point  where  it  had  been  so  rudely  interrupted 


I02  BIG  LAUREL 

and  saw  her  fail,  though  he  did  his  best  to  help 
her.  He  himself  tried  and  failed.  For  long  inter- 
vals they  walked  in  silence  —  a  dangerous  silence. 

That  evening  she  came  down  to  supper  light- 
heartedly  enough  and  in  a  pretty  new  gown. 
For  the  first  time  since  his  stay  here  Allston 
could  have  told  with  some  detail  just  what  she 
wore.  It  was  a  light,  gauzy  thing  of  a  bluish  tint 
with  rosebuds  peeping  out  from  the  skirt  be- 
neath. Her  hair  was  done  high  and  fastened  with 
a  large  tortoise-shell  comb.  The  walk  had  so 
crimsoned  her  cheeks  that  her  father  noticed  it. 

"You're  looking  very  fine  to-night,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,  dad,"  she  answered. 

Allston  wished  to  add  his  testimony,  but  when 
he  met  her  brown  eyes  he  decided  not  to  venture. 
But  at  that  he  honestly  did  think  she  looked  very 
fine. 

Howe  appeared  troubled  with  Allston's  lack  of 
success  in  the  neighboring  streams.  He  had  rec- 
ommended them  —  on  hearsay  evidence,  to  be 
sure  —  and  held  himself  more  or  less  responsible. 

"  It 's  odd  you  don't  have  better  luck,"  he  said 
at  supper.  "  I  've  always  understood  the  fishing 
around  here  was  excellent  —  particularly  for 
bass." 


BIG  LAUREL  103 

"  It  is,"  answered  Allston.    "  But  I  Ve  been 

fishing  for  trout." 

"  Well,  it  seems  as  though  you  ought  to  get  a 
trout  occasionally." 

"  I  'm  afraid  it 's  been  my  fault,"  broke  in 
Wilmer.  "  I  think  Mr.  Allston  will  have  to  try 
his  luck  alone  for  a  while." 

"  I  might  get  more  fish,"  admitted  Allston. 
"  But  I  would  n't  have  as  much  pleasure." 

"Trout  are  wary,"  said  Howe. 

"As  wary  as  smiles,"  admitted  Allston. 
.  "  I  did  more  or  less  fishing  when  a  boy,"  ran  on 
Howe.  "The  streams  were  better  stocked  then." 

"  But  the  woods  were  not  any  sweeter  nor  the 
sun  any  brighter,"  suggested  Allston.  "And  that 
after  all  is  what  counts.  I  haven't  a  complaint 
to  make  —  unless  it  is  of  to-day." 

"Why  of  to-day .f*"  questioned  Howe. 

"  I  did  n't  give  enough  attention  to  my 
fishing." 

"And  lost  a  big  one?  They  always  bite  best 
when  vour  head  is  turned." 

"My  head  was  turned,"  replied  Allston,  look- 
ing across  the  table  at  Wilmer.  She  was  very 
busy  at  that  moment  pouring  tea. 


I04  BIG  LAUREL 

"You  will  have  sugar  to-night?" 

"  All  you  '11  give  me." 

"  That 's  too  bad,"  Howe  consoled  him.  "  I 
hope  you  '11  have  better  luck  next  time." 

"  I  shall  certainly  try  to  keep  my  head  another 
time,"  declared  Allston. 

It  was  not  easy,  however,  even  for  the  remain- 
der of  that  evening.  He  had  never  before  minded 
the  presence  of  her  father,  but  from  this  point  on 
he  found  himself  contriving  all  sorts  of  little  sub- 
terfuges for  isolating  her.  She  managed  to  foil 
them  all  without  permitting  him  to  know  whether 
it  was  deliberate  or  not.  To-night  she  consumed 
at  least  two  hours  in  reading  the  New  Orleans 
papers  until  he  heartily  wished  that  New  Orleans 
could  be  blotted  from  the  map.  And  yet,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  papers  and  those  droning  market 
quotations  on  sugar,  the  chances  are  that  Howe 
would  not  have  impolitely  closed  his  dear  old 
eyes  and  gone  off  peacefully  to  sleep.  The  girl 
herself  did  not  notice  until  Allston  rose  and 
touched  her  shoulder,  pointing  at  the  dozing 
figure. 

"Let's  go  out  on  the  porch,"  he  whispered. 
"  We  must  n't  disturb  him." 


BIG  LAUREL  105 

She  hesitated  —  evidently  uneasy. 

"You  don't  want  to  wake  him,  do  you?  You 
know  he  hasn't  been  sleeping  very  well  lately." 

Which  was  true  enough. 

Reluctantly  she  rose  and  yet  with  a  curious 
sort  of  reluctance  too;  a  reluctance  that  ex- 
pressed iftself  in  a  choking  kind  of  eagerness. 
Out  there  he  faced  her  in  the  light  of  a  waning 
moon. 

"You  didn't  mean  what  you  said  about  letting 
me  fish  alone?"  he  demanded. 

"It  —  it  might  be  best,"  she  answered. 

"  It  would  be  like  sending  me  into  exile,  and 
you  don't  want  to  do  that,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  with  almost  the 
bewilderment  of  a  child.  "Oh,  I  don't  know 
anything." 

It  was  strange  that  her  phrase  should  have  re- 
called to  him  the  half-heard  phrase  Roxie  had 
used.  The  latter  had  said,  "  I  dunno  "  in  answer 
to  the  question  he  had  asked,  carelessly  enough, 
of  her. 

"Everything  seems  to  be  getting  down  to 
that,"  he  muttered.  "  I  don't  know  very  much 
myself." 


CHAPTER  XI 

It  was  not  often  that  Wilmer  remained  long 
awake  after  retiring  to  her  room.  Her  days  came 
to  a  calm  and  untroubled  close  with  the  first 
approach  of  drowsiness.  The  problems  which 
claimed  her  attention  were  either  of  that  minor 
daylight  character  familiar  to  all  housekeepers 
or  else  of  so  purely  an  academic  nature  —  being 
largely  those  offered  by  the  younger  British  nov- 
elists—  that  they  were  as  easily  laid  aside  at 
night  as  her  walking  boots. 

But  this  evening,  instead  of  hurr}ang  into  bed 
after  blowing  out  her  light,  she  slipped  on  a 
dainty  negligee  and  sat  by  the  open  window.  She 
enjoyed  the  feel  of  the  fresh  night  breeze  on  her 
white  forehead  and  w^arm  face.  The  moon  had 
already  lost  one  section  of  its  brilliant  circumfer- 
ence, but  enough  was  left  to  bathe  in  a  translu- 
cent glow  the  encircling  hills  which  shut  in  the 
sleeping  valley  covered  now  with  a  silver  veil.  A 
cluster  of  chestnut-oaks  stood  below  her  window 
slightly  to  the  left  of  the  porch.  Fleeting  bits  of 
light   sifted  through  the   luxuriant   foliage  like 


BIG  LAUREL  107 

drops  of  silver  rain.  The  scene  before  her  eyes 
was  both  clear  and  vague ;  many  bits  easily  recog- 
nizable, but  the  rest  complicated  with  full-bodied 
shadows.  She  knew  every  inch  of  it,  and  yet  it 
was  veiled  in  mystery.  Knowing  there  was  noth- 
ing to  fear,  still  she  would  have  been  afraid  to 
walk  abroad  alone.  She  would  not  trust  her  in- 
telligence to  keep  in  leash  her  imagination.  And 
yet  if  her  intellect  could  not  do  that  for  her,  it 
was  serving  her  ill. 

It  was  —  in  other  ways.  Reason  should  have 
told  her  she  was  making  too  much  of  the  incident 
of  the  afternoon.  To  treat  that  seriously  was  to 
make  too  much  of  Allston  himself.  And  this  was 
dangerous.  It  destroyed  perspective  and  cloaked 
the  man  in  mystery  —  as  the  night  light  did  the 
familiar  acres  and  trees  before  her.  This  left  her 
the  prey  to  all  sorts  of  illusions  —  to  all  sorts  of 
unwarranted  timidities.  It  took  her  back  to 
childhood  and  virginal  ignorance.  This,  after  her 
reading  had  turned  the  searchlight  upon  one 
shadow  after  another  revealing  the  stark  truth. 

The  stark  truth  was  sometimes  unpleasant; 
sometimes  tediously  innocuous.  Never  was  it  ro- 
mantic. Most  men,  it  seems,  were  the  slaves  of 


io8  BIG  LAUREL 

fleeting  passions;  most  women,  their  victims. 
This  ended  sometimes  in  tragedy;  sometimes  in 
comedy;  sometimes  in  nothing  at  all.  The  great- 
est tragedy  to  her  was  when  it  ended  in  nothing 
at  all.  She  had  an  orderly  mind  and  liked  to 
reach  definite  conclusions.  She  found  vagueness 
depressing. 

Yet  that  appeared  to  be  the  spirit  of  the  day. 
No  one  knew  an>i:hing  with  certainty  whether 
of  politics  or  religion  or  human  nature.  She  her- 
self had  clung  persistently  to  most  of  the  doc- 
trines of  her  father  In  politics  and  religion,  and 
found  them  adequate.  But  she  could  not  accept 
his  trusting  confidence  In  the  inherent  honesty  of 
men,  except  those  of  his  generation.  The  world 
was  simpler  In  his  day. 

She  had  liked  Allston  from  the  start  and  been 
willing  to  accept  him,  up  to  a  certain  point,  at  his 
face  value.  She  never  expected  to  go  beyond  that 
point.  As  long  as  she  viewed  him  merely  objec- 
tively, she  found  him  distinctly  entertaining  and 
a  decided  addition  to  her  list  of  friends.  Consid- 
ering the  circumstances  of  his  introduction  to  the 
household,  she  was  warranted  in  believing  that 
here  their  relations  would  end.    It  was  on  this 


BIG  LAUREL  109 

theory  she  had  allowed  herself  so  much  freedom 
with  him. 

Now  this  was  all  changed.  He  had  thrust  him- 
self upon  her  attention  in  another  fashion.  When 
he  seized  her  hand,  the  act,  in  itself,  was 
trivial  enough,  as  he  had  argued.  But  what  it 
connoted  was  not  trivial.  And  the  effect  it  pro- 
duced on  her  was  not  trivial.  The  blood  which 
rushed  to  her  face  was  not  in  protest  at  his  bold- 
ness, even  though  for  self-protection  she  had  been 
obliged  to  make  him  think  so.  In  reality  it  was  a 
startling  confession  of  weakness  in  herself.  Had 
she  been  coldly  indifferent  or  even  righteously  in- 
dignant, she  could  have  forgotten  the  incident. 
But  she  could  not  forget  the  surge  of  a  far  differ- 
ent emotion  that  had  swept  through  her. 

She  had  handled  herself  well  considering  the 
strength  and  unexpectedness  of  this  attack.  The 
carefully  erected  barriers  of  years  had  been  swept 
away.  She  had  found  herself  standing,  self- 
dependent,  facing  this  man  in  the  grip  of  a  pas- 
sion so  primitive  it  shocked  her.  She  had  been 
thrilled  by  the  clasp  of  his  strong  fingers.  For  a 
few  dizzy  seconds  she  was  merely  some  captured 
thing  glad  of  her  capture.   Had  she  obeyed  her 


no  BIG  LAUREL 

desires,  she  would  not  have  struggled  at  all  — 
would  neither  have  withdrawn  her  hand  nor 
chided  him. 

Wilmer  faced  the  truth  mercilessly.  She  made 
no  attempt  to  equivocate  or  to  excuse  herself, 
though  even  here  in  the  privacy  of  her  room  her 
cheeks  flamed  scarlet  once  again.  She  had  been 
governed  by  instincts  as  primitive  as  anything 
she  might  expect  of  Roxie  and  she  knew  it.  To 
be  sure,  she  had  conquered  them.  In  the  space  of 
half  a  dozen  frantic  heartbeats  she  had  mastered 
herself.  But  this  did  not  blot  out  those  other  few 
seconds. 

And  now  to  explain  it  —  and  she  must  explain 
it  to  maintain  her  self-respect  —  she  was  driven 
to  the  use  of  the  word  love ;  the  word  she  prided 
herself  on  being  able  to  regard  with  almost  cyni- 
cal scorn.  It  was  not  like  this  that  she  had  ex- 
pected love  to  come,  if  ever  it  did  come  into  her 
life.  If  she  was  not  yet  twenty-live,  she  was  no 
longer  seventeen.  She  was  supposed  to  be  suffi- 
ciently well  disciplined  to  analyze  even  this  pas- 
sion intelligently.  If  not,  all  her  reading  and 
thought  were  to  little  purpose.  The  first  appeal 
of  a  lover  to  her  should  be  through  intellect  and 
character,  not  through  the  emotions. 


BIG  LAUREL  iii 

It  was  some  consolation  to  be  able  to  admit 
that  she  could  offer  no  criticism  of  Allston's  char- 
acter as  far  as  it  had  been  revealed  to  her.  As  for 
his  intellect,  if  it  was  not  as  acutely  active  as  her 
ideal  called  for,  it  was  by  no  means  negative. 
She  might  have  been  satisfied  with  it  —  if  only  it 
mattered.  But  it  did  not. 

She  had  not  this  afternoon,  and  she  did  not 
now,  care  a  picayune  about  his  intellect.  It  was 
the  beat  of  his  pulse  against  her  hand  which  had 
swayed  her.  It  was  the  feel  of  being  in  his  posses- 
sion that  had  taken  away  her  breath.  It  was  the 
magic  of  his  eyes  seeking  her  eyes  with  an  in- 
sistence almost  brutal  which  had  swept  her  off 
her  feet. 

It  was  all  those  things  which  at  this  moment 
brought  into  her  eyes  something  of  the  mystery 
which  the  moon  brought  to  the  familiar  picture 
at  which  in  awe  she  now  gazed  from  her  window. 
Her  lips  parted  and  she  pronounced  his  name  — 
using  quite  unconsciously,  because  it  expressed  a 
tenderness  her  mood  demanded,  a  nickname  she 
associated  with  a  brother  who  had  died  very 
young. 

"  Ned,"  she  repeated  to  herself. 


1 1  a  BIG  LAUREL 

The  sound  of  the  whispered  name  brought  the 
man  into  such  vivid  being  that  it  was  as  though 
he  stood  beside  her.  She  shrank  away  from  the 
window.  She  stared  about  the  room  in  fear  lest 
her  boldness  had  actually  materialized  him. 
Hurriedly  she  threw  off  her  negligee  and  running 
to  the  bed  hid  herself  beneath  the  sheets. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  RAIN  lasting  three  days  delayed  Bud  Childers. 
But  with  the  cards  he  now  held  he  could  afford 
to  wait.  Moreover,  he  found  himself  interested 
in  a  new  occupation.  He  could  use  this  time  to 
advantage  in  preparing  the  shack  for  his  prospec- 
tive bride. 

It  is  doubtful  if  any  woman  in  the  world  save 
Roxie  could  have  roused  in  him  such  an  ambi- 
tion. This  log  house,  substantially  as  it  stood 
to-day,  had  been  adequate  for  him,  for  his  father, 
for  his  father's  father,  and  all  the  women  who  in- 
cidentally had  lived  here.  He  was  ready  to  main- 
tain that  it  was  good  enough  for  any  one  —  except 
Roxie.  It  was  essentially  good  enough  for  her. 
But  living  with  the  Howes  had  made  her  fussy. 
And  she  was  a  little  different,  anyway.  She  liked 
purty  things  and  clean  things. 

The  building  was  a  one-story  affair  made  of 
hewn  trees  with  the  bark  on.  In  the  course 
of  time  much  of  this  had  fallen  off  leaving  the 
bare  wood  now  weatherbeaten,  showing  a  dull 
grayish  brown.   A  flimsy  porch  stood  before  it, 


114  BIG  LAUREL 

the  roof  supported  by  posts  of  young  chestnut- 
oaks.  A  board  door  opened  into  the  main  living- 
room.  This  was  finished  roughly  with  planed 
boards,  but  made  rather  attractive  by  a  stone  fire- 
place blackened  by  the  smoke  from  countless  fires. 
Here  Bud  did  most  of  his  cooking,  though  a  room 
in  the  rear  was  intended  to  be  a  kitchen.  Near  the 
dog-irons  stood  a  black  tin  coffee-pot,  and  on  the 
mantel  above  were  various  earthen  crocks  which 
had  served  as  cooking-utensils  for  three  genera- 
tions. A  few  cane-bottomed  straight-back  chairs, 
a  table  covered  with  cracked  oilcloth,  a  small 
stove  in  the  corner,  the  pipe  braced  with  rusted 
wires,  a  rifle  and  a  long-barreled  shotgun  fas- 
tened to  the  walls,  a  lithograph  torn  from  an  old 
patent-medicine  calendar  representing  dimly  an 
elderly  couple  peacefully  paring  fruit,  were  the 
only  furnishings.  On  the  wall  to  the  right  of  the 
fireplace  two  doors  indicated  a  cupboard.  To  the 
rear,  back  of  this  room,  was  the  bedroom  contain- 
ing a  four-poster  rope  bed  covered  with  some- 
what frayed  and  none  too  clean  crazy-quilts 
above  gray  blankets.  Outside,  to  the  left,  and 
sheltered  by  the  eaves  stood  the  spring-house 
supplied  with  the  clearest  of  mountain  water. 


BIG  LAUREL  115 

Bud's  original  idea  was  merely  to  sweep,  but 
having  done  that  much  he  went  a  little  farther 
and  applied  hot  water  and  soap  to  the  floors,  the 
furniture,  and  finally  to  the  odds  and  ends  of 
dishes.  This  not  only  filled  in  the  spare  time  left 
from  his  farm  duties,  but  it  satisfied  a  newly  de- 
veloped craving.  He  was  not  doing  this  for  him- 
self. He  was  doing  it  for  Roxie.  In  a  way  he  was 
being  of  service  to  her.  He  was  relieving  her 
pretty  hands  from  drudgery.  But  in  so  doing  he 
was  submitting  to  a  standard  which  seemed  to 
him  like  damned  foolishness  —  as  far  as  he 
alone  was  concerned  —  and  swallowing  a  goodly 
amount  of  stubborn  pride.  This  involved  self- 
sacrifice.  He  was  doing  it,  moreover,  for  another. 
This  involved  a  conception  of  unselfishness.  Bud 
had  never  been  noted  for  either  quality. 

And  yet  he  took  a  tremendous  satisfaction  in 
his  efforts.  The  task  proved  so  congenial  that  he 
carried  it  far  beyond  his  first  intention.  On  the 
second  day  he  mounted  his  mare  in  the  rain  and 
posted  to  the  village  store.  His  idea  was  to  buy 
new  oilcloth  for  the  table  and  a  fresh  coffee-pot. 
Before  he  was  done  he  had  included  towels, 
blankets,  a  cake  of  scented  soap,  and  a  supply  of 
tinned  goods. 


ii6  BIG  LAUREL 

"Looks  like  you  meant  to  git  married,"  sug- 
gested Ed  Bingham,  the  storekeeper. 

"None  o'  yo'  damned  business  if  I  am,  is  it?  " 
frowned  Bud. 

"  No-o,"  drawled  Bingham  with  an  instant  de- 
sire to  conciliate.  "  No-o,  it  ain't." 

"  Then  fergit  it,"  snapped  Bud. 

If  Ed  Bingham  found  this  difficult  under  the 
circumstances,  he  managed  to  give  his  face  the 
proper  expression  for  registering  forgetfulness 
as  long  as  Bud  remained  in  the  store  and  that 
sufficed.  He  had  his  opportunity  to  express  as 
freely  as  he  wished  his  real  opinions  after  Bud 
cantered  off.  He  made  the  most  of  that.  As  far  as 
Bud  was  concerned,  he  might,  and  be  hanged. 
What  was  spoken  to  his  face  was  one  thing ;  what 
was  spoken  behind  his  back  another  and  rela- 
tively unimportant  matter. 

Bud  returned  to  his  shack  through  the  pouring 
rain,  carefully  protecting  his  purchases  beneath 
a  rubber  poncho.  Never  had  he  minded  less  a 
wet  ride,  for  the  little  mare's  hoofs  sang  him  a 
song  all  the  way  —  a  simple  song  with  not  much 
variety,  but,  to  his  ears,  good  to  hear.  It  was 
merely  this : 


BIG  LAUREL  117 

"Roxie,  Roxie,  Roxie." 

It  ran  through  his  head  all  the  remainder  of 
that  day  and  mixed  itself  with  his  restless  dreams. 
It  roused  him  at  dawn  and  was  echoed  in  the 
twitter  of  the  morning  birds  greeting  so  joy- 
ously the  clear  sky.  He  rose  at  once  with  the  real- 
ization that  this  morning  had  a  significance  of  its 
own;  it  was  the  last  he  would  have  to  face  by 
himself.  To-night  he  was  to  find  Roxie  and  fetch 
her  up  here.  That  made  it  seem  almost  as  though 
she  were  here  now.  He  washed  with  considerable 
attention  to  details  and  slicked  down  his  black 
hair  until  it  lay  plastered  to  his  head. 

Bud  was  confident.  That  was  characteristic 
of  his  attitude  towards  any  personal  venture  he 
undertook  alone.  It  was  doubly  true  of  this  one 
in  which  he  was  prepared  to  risk  all  in  order  to 
gain  all.  He  saw  no  obstacles  in  his  path;  could 
conceive  of  none  which  might  stop  him.  His  plan 
was  well  outlined  and  simple;  he  would  ride  to 
the  Howe  shack  after  dark  and  leave  his  horse  in 
the  road  just  below.  Then  he  would  circle  the 
house  and  post  himself  near  the  kitchen  door  in 
the  rear.  There  he  would  wait  his  chance  to  see 
Roxie  alone.  He  would  not  need  over  five  min- 


ii8  BIG  LAUREL 

utes  with  her  because  this  time  he  held  all  the 
cards.  When  he  was  done,  she  would  follow  him. 
No  fear  about  that.  She  might  come  like  a  colt 
for  the  first  time  in  halter,  but  she  would  come. 
It  mattered  little  what  her  temper  was  at  the 
start.   She  would  tame. 

Towards  dusk  Bud  went  through  the  shack 
once  again  and  put  everything  in  order.  Then  he 
took  out  his  gun  and  examined  it  to  make  sure 
each  chamber  was  loaded.  Finally  he  piled  up 
fresh  wood  and  kindling  beside  the  fireplace  in 
order  to  have  everything  ready  for  a  quick  blaze. 
On  the  table  he  placed  a  kerosene  lamp  and 
matches.  At  half-past  seven  he  closed  and  locked 
his  door  and  went  to  the  barn  for  his  mare. 

It  was  dark  when  Bud  reached  the  valley,  but 
he  took  the  rest  of  the  road  on  a  gallop.  There 
were  those  who  later  said  they  remembered 
hearing  him  pass. 

"Thought  it  must  be  some  one  after  the 
doctor,"  said  one. 

Another  thought  it  was  some  one  loaded  with 
moonshine  whiskey.  All  were  glad  enough  that 
the  mysterious  night  rider  in  such  a  hurry  went 
by  without  stopping. 

Bud  picketed  the  mare  in  the  woods  just  off 


BIG  LAUREL  119 

the  road,  not  a  hundred  yards  from  the  spot 
where  Allston  a  few  weeks  before  had  been 
brought  to  such  an  abrupt  and  unexpected  halt. 
Had  Bud  been  interested  he  might  have  seen  the 
tree  still  showing  the  scars  made  by  Allston's  ma- 
chine. But  that  would  have  been  to  stir  him  up 
unnecessarily. 

Bud  trusted  to  the  dark  to  keep  him  concealed 
halfway  up  the  serpentine  drive  leading  to  the 
lighted  bungalow,  but  when  within  reach  of  the 
light  cutting  a  path  over  the  grass,  he  swerved  to 
the  left  and  made  a  wide  half-circle.  From  this 
point  he  worked  his  way  more  cautiously  towards 
the  kitchen.  The  door  was  open  and  through  it 
he  caught  occasional  glimpses  of  a  figure  flitting 
back  and  forth.  It  was  Roxie.  His  heart,  had  he 
been  blind,  would  have  told  him  that.  The  sight 
spurred  him  on  —  made  him  resent  caution.  In 
another  dozen  paces  he  was  at  the  door. 

Roxie  felt  his  presence  before  she  saw  him.  She 
was  hanging  near  the  stove  her  wet  dishcloths. 
Her  back  was  towards  him  when  suddenly  she 
swung.  At  sight  of  him  she  stood  transfixed.  In 
that  interval  he  crossed  the  room  and  seized  an 
arm. 

"I  gut  suthin'  to  tell  yuh,"  he  said. 


I20  BIG  LAUREL 

As  she  shrank  away  he  added  in  a  lower,  tenser 
tone : 

"  I  'm  goneter  tell  yuh  suthin'. " 

She  saw  then  that  in  his  other  hand  he  held  his 
gun.   It  made  her  afraid  —  but  not  for  herself. 

"What's  the  matter,  Bud?"  she  asked  aim- 
lessly. 

"  Come  out  hyar  an'  I  '11  tell  yuh." 

She  grew  suddenly  cold.  She  shook  as  with  the 
ague.  Yet  she  followed  where  he  led  —  away  from 
the  house  across  the  fields  until  their  voices  could 
not  be  heard. 

"  That  pink-cheeked  fren'  o'  yourn  —  I  seen 
him  t'other  day." 

"Mr.  Allston.?"  she  trembled. 

"  Ef  thet  's  his  name.  I  seen  him  in  the  woods 
a-makin'  up  to  Miss  Wilmer." 

Whatever  Roxie  had  expected,  it  was  no  such 
line  of  attack  as  this.  She  stiffened. 

"Yer  He,"  she  choked. 

"  I  seen  him  in  the  cove  a-holdin'  her  hand, 
he  went  on,  quite  undisturbed. 

"Yer  lie.  Bud  Childers.  Yer  lie  in  your  throat, 
she  panted. 

"I  swear  to  Gawd  I  seen  him  —  a-holdin'  her 
hand." 


» 


?> 


BIG  LAUREL  121 

"  What  was  you  doin'  there  ? "  she  demanded, 
struggling  hard  against  a  new  emotion  that 
gripped  her  throat  like  a  strangler's  hold. 

"  What  was  I  doin'  thar  ?  "  he  repeated  slowly. 
"What  was  I  doin'  thar.?  I  was  passin'  by." 

That  was  all  he  said,  but  from  his  voice  she 
knew.  With  a  spasmodic  shudder  she  drew  back 
a  step.  He  followed  instantly,  bending  closer  to 
her  ear. 

"  I  was  passin'  by  like  I  'm  passin'  by  here," 
he  said.  "  But  I  ain't  used  to  passin'  by." 

She  made  no  reply.  What  he  said  was  true.  She 
turned  towards  the  house.  He  seized  her  arm 
again. 

"  I  left  him  for  Miss  Wilmer,"  he  said  hoarsely. 
"She  can  have  the  damned  honey-lapper  an' 
welcome.   But  you  —  I  want  you  myself." 

"Bud,"  she  pleaded,  her  breath  coming  in 
gasps. 

"I  want  you  to-night  —  now.  The  mare  Is 
waitin'.  I  'm  waitin'.  But  we  cain't  wait  long." 

"What  you  sayin'?" 

"  I  love  yer,  Roxie.  I  've  fixed  the  house  all  up 
purty  fer  yer." 

"Forme?" 


122  BIG  LAUREL 

His  cheeks  were  burning  with  eagerness  now. 
Roughly  he  pressed  closer. 

"  You  talk  like  we  was  married ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  To-morrer  's  time  'nuflF  for  that.  But  I  wanter 
make  sure  of  you  to-night." 

All  the  fighting  instinct  in  her  flared  up  —  the 
fighting  instinct  based  upon  her  pride  of  woman- 
hood. Like  a  fury  she  turned  on  the  man. 

"I'd  die  afore  I  went  with  you,  Bud  Child- 
ers  !  "  she  exploded. 

"  But  yo  '11  come,"  he  said.  "  Yo  '11  come." 

"  Go  'way !  Go  'way !  " 

"I  won't  go  away  —  without'n  you.  'Cause  if 
I  do — s'help  me  Gawd  I  '11  get  yo'  pink-cheeked 
fren'  fust." 

If  the  girl  had  been  struck  between  the  eyes, 
she  could  have  been  no  more  dazed.  A  blow 
would  have  left  her  less  dazed  because  then  she 
might  not  have  been  able  to  think.  She  could 
think  now.  Her  thoughts  ran  like  flames  through 
dry  grass.  And  like  wild  flames  first  in  this  direc- 
tion and  then  that.  There  was  so  much  in  her 
poor  little  head  that  was  inflammable! 

Miss  Wilmer  and  the  Prince  —  a-holdin'  hands  ! 


BIG  LAUREL  123 

It  was  a  lie!  Wouldn't  she  have  known,  living 
right  here  with  them,  if  Miss  Wilmer  or  Mr. 
Allston  —  but  another  burning  thought  cut  in 
and  enveloped  this  one.  They  did  not  know  about 
her  —  neither  of  them  —  then  why  should  she 
know  about  them  ?  Love  might  be  a  hidden  thing, 
like  gold  in  the  ground. 

It  was  a  lie  —  and  yet  something  must  have 
held  Bud  back  when  he  had  this  man  so  at  his 
mercy.  It  was  a  lie,  and  yet  not  the  sort  of  lie 
Bud  would  make  up.  Bud  could  lie  on  occasion 
—  he  had  lied  that  night  he  said  her  mother  was 
sick  —  but  he  was  not  lying  now. 

Silently  the  tall,  lean  figure  stood  beside  her 
in  the  dark  awaiting  her  decision.  She  turned  as 
though  in  hope  of  detecting  in  him  some  slight 
evidence  of  weakness.  She  could  not  see  his  face, 
but  that  was  not  essential.  She  felt  the  set  of  his 
thin  mouth.  He  was  grimly  in  earnest.  He  meant 
every  word  he  said  both  about  Allston  and  about 
herself.  He  had  spoken  of  love  —  of  love  for  her. 
Here  was  something  to  catch  at.  If  he  was 
honest  about  that,  he  could  not  be  all  bad. 

But  before  she  could  reason  very  far  along  this 
line,  she  heard  some  one  calling  from  the  house. 


124  BIG  LAUREL 

It  was  Allston  who  had  come  into  the  kitchen. 

Bud  turned  in  a  flash  with  half-raised  gun. 
Allston  stood  framed  in  the  doorway  —  an  easy 
mark.  With  a  desperate  cry  Roxie  threw  herself 
in  front  of  Childers. 

"  I  '11  go,  Bud,"  she  whimpered.  "  I  '11  go,' 


99 


CHAPTER  XIII 

RoxiE  made  one  request  of  Bud  Childers. 

"You'll  let  me  go  back  ter  the  house  and  git 
some  things,  Bud?  " 

If  any  one  else,  under  these  circumstances,  had 
suggested  this,  he  would  have  grown  instantly 
suspicious.   Even  now  he  hesitated. 

"I  —  I  '11  tell  'um  I  'm  goin'  ter  bed  an'  then 
they  won't  hunt  fer  me,"  she  added  quickly. 

"I  reckon  you'll  come  back,"  he  decided, 
"  'cause  ef  yo'  don'  —  " 

"  I  promise,"  she  whispered. 

"I'll  take  yer  promise,"  he  said.  "Ef  you'll 
cross  yer  throat." 

She  crossed  her  throat. 

"  Then  I  '11  wait  hyar  half  an  hour.  Thet  long 
nuff?" 

There  was  a  trace  of  consideration  in  the 
question. 

"Yes,  Bud,"  she  answered. 

She  flew  across  the  grass  as  Allston  called 
again.  She  came  to  the  house  quite  out  of  breath. 

"  Where  in  the  world  have  you  been  ? "  de- 
manded Allston. 


126  BIG  LAUREL 

"Jest  out  in  the  field,"  she  answered. 

"  Queer,"  he  muttered.  "  I  was  sitting  there  by 
the  fire  and  all  of  a  sudden  I  got  worried  about 
you.  Star-gazing.^" 

She  moved  away  from  the  open  door  and  closed 
it.  But  there  were  two  windows  through  which 
they  could  be  seen. 

"  I  'm  all  done  hyar,"  she  said.  "  Guess  I  '11 
blow  out  the  light." 

She  waited  for  him  to  go  back  to  the  sitting- 
room.  He  did  not  move. 

"  I  'm  all  done  hyar,"  she  repeated. 

"  Well .?  " 

"  I  'm  goin'  ter  blow  out  the  light  now." 

"Then  blow  it  out." 

She  crossed  to  the  table  and  blew  down  the 
chimney.  It  was  necessary  to  blow  twice.  Then 
she  made  for  the  stairs  that  opened  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  rear  room  she  occupied. 

"  Roxie,"  he  called  in  the  dark. 

"  I  'm  all  done  hyar.  I  'm  goin'  ter  bed  now," 
she  answered. 

"  Just  a  minute." 

She  heard  his  feet  moving  towards  her  and 
would  have  run  had  she  dared.    But  to  do  so 


BIG  LAUREL  127 

would  only  excite  suspicion  and  that  was  the  one 
thing  she  must  avoid.  His  life,  on  as  small  an 
issue  as  this,  was  at  stake.  She  heard  him  shuffle 
nearer  and  nearer  and  flattened  herself  against 
the  wall. 

"  Roxie,"  he  said.  **  You  sure  you  're  all  right?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  don't  believe  much  in  hunches,  but  —  over 
there  I  used  to  have  them  and  pretty  nearly  al- 
ways they  were  worth  following." 

He  was  at  her  side  now.  He  put  out  his  hand. 
It  touched  her  shoulder. 

"  I  had  a  hunch  about  you  to-night." 

"Ye-es,  sir." 

"  I  did  n't  know  but  what  Bud  Childers  was 
snooping  'round." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Keep  away  from  him,  Roxie.  If  he  bothers 
you,  let  me  know." 

"  I  'm  goin'  ter  bed  now,"  she  repeated. 

"  All  right,  little  girl.  Good-night." 

He  dropped  his  warm  hand  from  her  shoulder. 
She  felt  as  though  it  must  have  left  a  red  mark 
there. 

"Good-night,"  she  stammered. 


128  BIG  LAUREL 

He  left  her  side  and  made  his  way  across  the 
dark  room  to  the  door  into  the  sitting-room. 
He  opened  it  and  in  the  full  light  she  saw  him 
framed. 

It  was  a  lie  about  Miss  Wilmer.  Her  mouth 
half  opened  to  call  him  back.  If  she  told  him 
everything,  of  how  Bud  had  come  to  carry  her 
off  and  was  waiting  out  there,  he  could  get  his 
own  gun  and  fight  him  off.  There  was  still  time. 
Even  now  he  turned  back  as  though  expecting 
to  hear  her  voice.  Clenching  her  two  iists  she 
closed  her  lips  tight.  She  had  given  her  word  and 
crossed  her  throat  and  even  in  a  fair  fight  there 
would  always  be  danger. 

The  door  closed  behind  him.  The  room  was  in 
utter  darkness  again.  Roxie,  her  hot  eyes  filling, 
fumbled  her  way  up  the  stairs  and  into  her  attic 
chamber.  She  lighted  her  lamp  and  began  to  roll 
up  a  few  things  into  a  bundle;  stockings,  shoes, 
a  nightgown  —  anything  she  happened  to  see. 
This  gave  a  definiteness  to  Bud's  proposal  that 
terrified  her  anew.  He  was  going  to  take  her  up 
there  before  she  was  married.  To-morrow,  he 
had  said,  they  would  go  to  the  minister's  —  but 
what  of  to-night?    She  grew  hot  and  cold.   She 


BIG  LAUREL  129 

rose  from  the  bureau  drawer  in  which  she  was 
fumbling  and  stood  upright  —  an  animal  about 
to  spring.  At  sight  of  herself  in  the  mirror,  she 
grew  flaming  red  with  shame.  She  blew  out  the 
lamp  and,  crumbling,  knelt  by  her  bed  as  she 
did  every  night.  She  said  her  prayer  —  the  only 
one  she  knew: 

"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep; 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take.'* 

She  had  known  this  from  childhood  and  it  had 
always  brought  her  comfort.  But  it  was  not  ade- 
quate for  now.  In  superstitious  awe  of  what  she 
was  doing  —  half  fearing  it  was  blasphemy  —  she 
added  a  line  of  her  own: 

"Lord!  Lord,  please  to  let  me  die  afore  I 
wake." 

If  at  that  moment  she  had  felt  herself  suddenly 
swooning  off  into  death,  she  would  not  have  been 
greatly  surprised.  She  waited  a  minute  expect- 
antly, but  nothing  happened.  It  was  life  she  must 
face,  not  death. 

Suddenly  —  as  though  in  answer  to  her  prayer 
—  she  thought  of  a  long,  steel-bladed  knife  she 
used  in  the  kitchen.  She  could  take  that  with  her. 


I30  BIG  LAUREL 

It  would  give  her  something  to  fight  through  this 
night  with.  It  would  save  her  until  to-morrow, 
and  that  was  all  she  asked. 

It  would  save  her  to  herself,  but  not  to  the 
world.  She  realized  that.  No  one  would  believe, 
with  the  opportunity  for  escape  she  now  had, 
she  went  with  Bud  other  than  voluntarily.  Her 
mother  would  not  believe ;  the  Mission  would  not 
believe;  Miss  Wilmer  would  not  believe  —  be- 
cause never,  never,  never  could  she  tell  why  she 
did  this  thing. 

Mr.  Allston  himself  might  not  believe.  He  had 
warned  her;  had  offered  his  protection.  If,  in  the 
face  of  that,  she  went,  he  must  think  it  was 
because  she  chose  to  go. 

"Lord,"  she  repeated,  "dear,  good,  kind  Lord 
—  please  to  take  my  soul  right  away.  I  wanter 
be  good,  Lord.  Please  to  take  it." 

If  poignant  earnestness  can  wing  a  prayer 
straight  to  God,  that  prayer  sped  like  an  arrow. 
And  yet  if  He  heard,  He  gave  no  evidence  of  it. 
Roxie  breathed  on,  her  white,  girlish  bosom  heav- 
ing. The  knife  would  save  her  to  herself,  but  not 
to  the  others. 

Weak-kneed  and  dazed,  she  rose  to  her  feet 


BIG  LAUREL  131 

again.  Time  was  passing  and  Bud  was  waiting. 
She  had  promised  to  be  back  in  half  an  hour  and 
the  period  of  grace  might  have  passed  already. 
In  the  grip  of  a  new  fear  akin  to  panic,  she  re- 
lighted her  lamp.  God  was  going  to  make  her  go. 

It  was  curious  how  easily  she  swung  in  her 
thoughts  from  God  to  Allston.  From  this  point 
it  was  upon  him  that  she  concentrated.  In  this 
mood  she  conceived  a  new  idea.  It  might  be  that 
he  would  have  another  of  those  queer  notions  he 
called  "hunches"  and  come  up  here  to  see  if  she 
was  asleep.  She  must  protect  him  against  that 
possibility.  To  throw  him  off  his  guard  she  must 
write  a  note  and  leave  it  on  her  pillow. 

She  found  the  stub  of  a  pencil  and  a  bit  of 
paper.  She  wrote  impulsively  and  with  little 
thought  of  what  she  was  writing  except  the  ob- 
ject to  be  obtained.  Her  letters  were  big  and 
scrawly  and  many  of  her  words  mis-spelled. 

Deer  sir  [she  wrote].  I  *m  goln  off  tonlte  and  not  comin 
back.  You  will  no  why  sum  day.  I  am  allrlte.  Plese 
dont  hunt  for  me.  You  have  been  orful  good  to  me  an  with 
meny  thanks  I  am  your  frend 

RoxiE  Kester 

If  he  did  not  find  this  to-night  some  one  would 
find  it  in   the   morning.    It  would   explain   to 


132  BIG  LAUREL 

Allston  why  his  hot  muffins  were  not  ready. 
When  Roxie  rose  from  the  table  she  looked  all 
about  the  room  to  make  sure  no  one  saw  her. 
As  an  extra  precaution  she  blew  out  the  light. 
Then  she  pressed  the  note  to  her  lips  over  the 
words  "  Deer  sir,"  and  kissed  them  again  and 
again  —  wildly,  passionately,  sobbingly. 

A  moment  later  she  pawed  around  in  the  dark 
for  her  half-made-up  bundle,  placed  it  under  her 
arm,  and  stole  down  the  kitchen  stairs.  Every 
time  they  creaked  she  paused  and  held  her 
breath,  though  she  knew  the  half-hour  must  be 
almost  spent.  Reaching  the  bottom  she  tiptoed 
to  the  kitchen  table  and  felt  around  in  the  drawer 
until  she  found  her  knife.  She  concealed  this  in 
the  bundle. 

From  the  next  room  came  the  sound  of  voices ; 
first  Miss  Wilmer's  voice;  then  Allston's  voice; 
then  Miss  Wilmer's  voice,  and  finally  a  hearty 
laugh  from  Allston.  She  closed  her  eyes  as 
though  to  shut  out  the  picture  this  called  up. 

"It's  a  lie,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  went  on  out  the  door  and  across  the  grass. 
Bud  was  waiting.  Detaching  himself  from  the 
dark  he  hurried  forward  to  meet  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Allston  talked  rather  more  than  usual  that 
evening  and  he  laughed  often.  But  he  was 
strangely  restless.  At  least  a  half-dozen  times  he 
rose  abruptly  from  his  chair  and  walked  about 
the  room,  picking  up  a  book  only  to  drop  it,  mov- 
ing to  the  window  only  to  turn  away,  lighting  a 
cigarette  only  to  toss  it  into  the  fire  after  a  few 
puffs. 

For  an  hour  or  more  Wilmer  noted  his  uneasi- 
ness without  comment,  but  finally  laughingly 
referred  to  it. 

"  If  you  were  a  woman  I  'd  say  you  had  the 
fidgets,"  she  declared. 

"No  —  it  isn't  that,"  he  answered.  "My  nerves 
are  steady  enough." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  sit  still  ?  " 

"I  give  it  up,"  he  smiled. 

"It's  that  Bud  Childers,"  broke  in  Howe. 
"  He 's  getting  on  my  nerves  too." 

Wilmer  glanced  up  and  shot  a  quick  question 
at  her  father. 


134  BIG  LAUREL 

"You've  heard  something,  then,  that  you 
haven't  told  me? " 

"  No,"  returned  Howe. 

"You've  seen  him?" 

"  No.  I  've  neither  seen  nor  heard  of  him  for 
two  or  three  days.  I  'd  feel  better  if  I  had." 

Wilmer  turned  to  Allston  with  an  uneasy  feel- 
ing that  something  was  being  concealed  by  one  of 
the  men. 

"Nor  I,"  Allston  assured  her.  "And  I  don't 
expect  either  to  see  or  hear  of  him  again.  I  have 
a  notion  his  bark  is  worse  than  his  bite." 

Howe  shook  his  head. 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Those  men  nourish 
a  grudge  for  years.  That's  how  feuds  are  bred." 

"  It  is  n't  Childers  who  is  bothering  me," 
asserted  Allston.  "  If  I  were  obliged  to  describe 
my  restlessness  I  'd  have  to  turn  to  the  spook 
world  and  I  'm  not  very  keen  about  that  sort  of 
thing." 

He  sat  down  again  in  his  chair  before  the  fire, 
between  Howe  and  his  daughter.  The  latter 
studied  him  a  moment  with  amused  interest. 

"  Somehow  you  're  not  the  kind  of  man  I  'd 
suspect  of  being  susceptible  to  spirits,"  she  said. 


BIG  LAUREL  135 

He  had  rather  avoided  her  eyes  this  evening. 
He  had  found  them  increasingly  dangerous.  He 
would  have  said  that  in  the  last  few  days  they 
had  mellowed  and  deepened.  They  were  still  like 
pools  reflecting  the  brown  of  autumn  foliage  and 
he  was  still  tempted  to  fish  in  them  for  smiles. 
But  he  could  not  forget  what  he  had  caught  there 
once. 

"Why  do  you  single  out  me? "  he  asked. 

"Because  your  feet  are  so  solidly  on  the 
ground." 

"  I  'm  of  the  earth  earthy?  " 

She  frowned. 

"  Please  don't  misinterpret." 

"  I  don't  mean  to,  but  is  n't  that  what  you 
said?" 

She  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders. 

"I  intended  rather  a  compliment,  but  if  you 
won't  have  it — " 

"  I  '11  accept  all  the  crumbs  of  that  kind  you 
toss  me,"  he  interrupted. 

"  If  you  two  are  beginning  another  quarrel, 
I  'm  going  upstairs,"  protested  Howe  good- 
naturedly. 

He  may  have  dozed  a  good  deal  in  their  com- 


136  BIG  LAUREL 

pany  off  and  on,  but  it  is  surprising  what  a  man 
of  his  age  can  pick  up  even  when  half  asleep.  He 
was  sure  of  nothing  yet,  but  his  suspicions  were 
aroused  and  he  was  not  at  all  displeased  with 
them.  He  had  never  met  a  young  man  who  with 
so  little  effort  had  so  thoroughly  worked  his  way 
into  his  good  graces.  He  had  never  met  a  young 
man  whom  he  so  thoroughly  trusted.  He  proved 
that  in  his  willingness  to  leave  Allston  so  much 
alone  with  his  daughter.  He  had  not  lived  sixty- 
five  years  for  nothing,  and  would  have  been  quick 
enough  to  foil  any  development  of  this  sort  of 
which  he  did  not  approve. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Howe  for  the  last  year  or 
two  had  been  more  or  less  worried  about  Wil- 
mer's  future.  Not  financially,  for  he  had  means 
enough  to  assure  her  of  independence  in  that 
direction.  But  he  did  not  believe  in  that  kind  of 
independence  for  a  woman.  Marriage  to  him  was 
the  wholesome  and  natural  estate  of  woman- 
hood. He  had  been  conscious  of  a  growing  fear 
that  Wilmer  was  deliberately  sacrificing  herself 
to  him  in  this  matter.  He  had  never  discussed  it 
with  her.  It  was  a  difficult  and  delicate  question 
to  bring  up.    But  he  had  thought  a  good  deal 


BIG  LAUREL  137 

about  it  and  could  account  for  her  apparent  aver- 
sion to  men  in  no  other  way.  In  spite  of  good 
health  he  was  growing  old  and  in  his  old  age  felt 
in  his  life  the  lack  of  those  tiny  baby  fingers 
which  so  assist  down  the  incline  however  gentle 
the  slope.  This  craving  for  grandchildren  is  a 
sort  of  second  birth.  It  is  the  logical  continua- 
tion of  growth.  It  makes  for  completion. 

He  could  trust  Wilmer  to  be  sound  in'  her 
choice  —  true  to  her  heart  —  if  only  she  would 
choose.  He  did  not  propos-e  either  to  assist  her  or 
to  advise.  That  would  be  an  impertinence.  With 
this  newer  generation  it  was  possible  for  a  father 
to  be  impertinent  towards  his  daughter.  He  used 
to  resent  that  where  now  he  only  smiled  at  it. 
He  would  not  assist  her  directly,  but  whenever 
it  was  possible  to  retire  gracefully  from  the  field 
where  these  two  were  trying  each  other  out,  he 
welcomed  the  opportunity  —  even  when  he  knew 
it  annoyed  Wilmer.  As  now,  for  example. 

It  was  only  nine  o'clock  when  he  rose  upon 
the  slightest  of  pretexts,  to  go  to  his  room. 

"No  one  is  quarreling,"  protested  Wilmer. 

"Call  it  a  disagreement,  then,"  answered 
Howe, 


138  BIG  LAUREL 

"  If  you  '11  stay  I  '11  read  to  you." 

Wilmer  looked  to  Allston  for  support.  She  re- 
ceived little. 

"No,"  declared  Howe,  "I'm  really  ready  for 
bed." 

With  that  he  made  his  sturdy  way  across  the 
room  and  went  upstairs,  Wilmer  following  him 
with  a  candle.  When  she  returned,  Allston  was 
over  by  the  window  again  staring  out  into  the 
night.  He  came  back  to  the  fire  as  soon  as  he 
heard  her  steps. 

"  I  feel,"  he  said,  "  exactly  as  though  I  heard 
some  one  calling  —  but  so  far  off  that  I  can't 
identify  either  the  voice  or  the  words.  Queer, 
is  n't  it .?  " 

"The  imagination  plays  strange  tricks  some- 
times." 

"You  think  that's  all  it  amounts  to.?" 

"Certainly.  What  else?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  'm  always  getting  back  to 
that  fool  phrase ;  I  don't  know." 

"We  ought  to  know  —  always,"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  so,  but  do  we?  " 

CC  T » 

The  phrase  was  on  her  own  lips  but  she  checked 
herself. 


BIG  LAUREL  139 

"Go  ahead;  finish  it,"  he  insisted  with  a  note 
of  triumph. 

"  I  refuse  to  be  so  stupid,"  she  answered,  evi- 
dently nettled. 

"  We  may  as  well  be  honest  with  ourselves." 

"  As  long  as  we  remain  sensible,"  she  finished 
for  him. 

"  Sensible?  I  wonder  what  we  mean  when  we 
say  that?" 

"  I  mean  governed  by  intelligence,"  she  replied 
instantly. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted.  "That's  a  good  defini- 
tion.  Only — it  does  leave  out  a  whole  lot." 

"  Nothing  worth  while,"  she  insisted  dogmati- 
cally. 

"  It  leaves  out  war." 

"  Perhaps  war  is  n't  worth  while." 

"  But  there  it  is.  The  idea  governed  a  good 
many  million  men  for  five  years.  And  there 
was  n't  much  intelligence  back  of  it  when  you 
think  it  over  in  cold  blood." 

"  Many  were  governed  by  the  idea  of  self- 
protection  and  that's  intelligent." 

"It's  more  instinctive.  And  the  instincts  — 
are  they  intelligent? " 


I40  BIG  LAUREL 

He  spoke  rather  more  earnestly.  She  answered 
rather  more  cautiously: 

"When  properly  trained." 

"  But  when  properly  trained  we  should  n't  have 
instincts,"  he  laughed.    "We  should  have  only 


reason." 


"  Well .? " 

"Having  chased  our  tails  we  are  back  where 
we  started." 

"  I  don't  see  it." 

"Then  let's  try  again.  Being  sensible  leaves 
out  —  love." 

She  moved  her  chair  a  trifle  —  to  turn  her  face 
away  from  him  and  towards  the  flames. 

"Doesn't  it?"  he  asked. 

There  was  one  good  feature  about  that  objec- 
tionable phrase  of  "  I  don't  know "  which  she 
was  willing  enough  to  admit;  it  furnished,  at 
least,  a  convenient  refuge.  If  ever  she  had  wished 
to  use  it,  that  was  now.  Without  some  such  re- 
treat one  was  forced  always  to  direct  answers. 

"Perhaps  you're  a  better  authority  on  love 
than  I,"  she  parried. 

"You're  wrong,"  he  returned  quickly.  "I 
don't  know  a  thing  about  it  except  that,  as  far 
as  one  can  observe,  it  isn't  always  sensible." 


BIG  LAUREL  141 

"Your  observations  have  been  —  extensive?" 
she  queried. 

There  was  a  touch  of  coquetry  about  her  now 
that  enhvened  her  mouth.  Her  profile,  he  thought, 
was  several  years  younger  than  her  full  face.  The 
gentle  curves  that  outlined  her  lips  and  rounded 
chin  were  at  this  moment  —  she  had  uncon- 
sciously relaxed  her  usual  control  over  them  — 
those  of  a  girl  of  eighteen. 

Allston  leaned  towards  her,  his  long  arms  on 
his  knees. 

"My  observations  cover  a  period  of  not  more 
than  a  week  or  two,"  he  said. 

"No?" 

"  And  I  can't  make  head  nor  tail  out  of  them." 

"Your  deductions  may  not  be  at  all  accurate," 
she  suggested. 

"They  are  scarcely  scientific,"  he  admitted. 
"They  are  based  upon  a  series  of  impulses." 

"  Impulses  are  dangerous,"  she  reminded  him. 

"And  yet  they  get  hold  of  one,"  he  said 
tensely,  "  like  instincts." 

She  rose  upon  the  pretext  of  poking  the  fire. 
She  rose  instinctively  —  as  one  draws  back  at 
the  approach  of  a  flame.  What  was  tempting  her 


142  BIG  LAUREL 

to  reach  out  her  hand  and  smooth  the  hair  back 
from  his  troubled  forehead?  It  was  a  Httle  act  of 
tenderness  she  sometimes  indulged  in  with  her 
father,  but  this  man  was  not  her  father.  Nor  her 
brother.  Nor  bore  any  blood  relationship  with 
her  whatsoever.  The  tenderness  that  sought  ex- 
pression in  some  definite  act  like  this  rather  than 
in  words,  that  demanded  contact,  was  akin  to 
mother  love.  Yet  there  was  a  difference;  a  dis- 
tinct difference.  Mother  love  is  a  result,  born 
of  the  past.  This  emotion  of  hers  was  a  desire 
urging  her  towards  the  future.  It  was  more  com- 
plex than  mother  love  and  more  poignant.  It 
was  even  less  intelligent. 

Yet  —  she  felt  like  offering  a  little  prayer  of 
thanks  —  it  was  her  intellect  that  enabled  her 
to  keep  herself  in  control  in  this  emergency.  And 
with  everything  against  her.  Both  her  cheeks 
and  her  eyes  tried  to  play  her  false.  Only  the  heat 
from  the  burning  logs  before  which  she  stooped 
saved  her  from  an  involuntary  confession.  They 
accounted,  after  a  fashion,  for  her  flushed  skin 
and  her  excited  eyes — brown  still,  but  shot 
through  and  through  with  dazzling  golden  arrows 
as  though  some  one  had  suddenly  swept  aside 


BIG  LAUREL  143 

the  autumn  branches  which  kept  them  cool  and 
let  in  the  glare  of  the  living  sun.  Reason,  how- 
ever, was  still  on  her  throne.  She  could  still  dic- 
tate as  she  chose  the  thoughts  to  which  she  would 
allow  audible  expression. 

The  only  trouble  was  that,  in  contrast  with 
those  she  concealed,  the  spoken  thoughts  sounded 
so  utterly  inane  that  she  would  much  have  pre- 
ferred to  keep  silent.  That  privilege,  however, 
she  could  not  permit  herself.  Silence  was  far  more 
expressive  than  speech. 

So  for  another  half-hour  she  rambled  on  in  an 
effort  to  keep  their  conversation  in  the  placid 
waters  of  banality  until  in  desperation  she  was 
forced  to  seek  safety  in  flight.  This  at  a  time 
when  she  knew  that  as  far  as  her  own  thoughts 
went,  flight  offered  no  protection;  this  also  at  a 
time  when  she  felt  —  uncannily  enough — as 
though  some  unseen  hand  were  on  her  arm 
urging  her  not  to  leave  him.  She  could  not  ac- 
count for  that.  It  served  further  to  confuse  her. 
Doubtless  it  was  merely  a  normal  reaction  to  his 
strange  mood.  Yet  it  should  not  be  in  the  face 
of  her  derision  of  that  mood. 

At  half-past  nine  Wilmer  excused  herself. 


144  BIG  LAUREL 

"Perhaps  a  good  night's  rest  will  help  your 
fidgets,"  she  said  to  Allston,  as  she  lighted  her 
candle. 

He  rose. 

"Perhaps,"  he  admitted.  "Though  I  refuse 
to  call  them  fidgets." 

Her  mind  was  aggressively  acute  to-night.  She 
seemed  driven  to  pick  up  every  phrase  and  ana- 
lyze it. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  makes  so  much  difference  what 
we  call  things,"  she  reflected.  "People  argue 
over  definitions  as  though  it  changed  the  thing 
itself." 

"I  suppose  it's  just  another  attempt  to  be 
honest." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Or  to  avoid  the  truth  —  dishonestly." 

"And  yet  if  we  spoke  the  stark  truth  as  it 
comes  to  us,  would  n't  we  make  mistakes  ?  " 

Again  the  warning  flame  across  her  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  it 's  possible  to  keep  on  forever  getting 
nowhere,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  And  you  're  tired,"  he  said  anxiously. 

"Good-night,"  she  answered  simply. 

She  was  about  to  turn  away  when  he  extended 
his  hand. 


BIG  LAUREL  145 

"Good-night,"  he  said  with  a  wistful  plea  in 
his  voice. 

She  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  placed  her 
own  w^arm  fingers  within  his  broad  palm.  But 
only  for  a  second.  He  had  no  time  to  close  over 
them. 

"Good-night,"  she  v/hispered,  and  hurried  up 
the  stairs  leading  from  the  open  room  to  the  floor 
above. 

He  watched  her  until  she  disappeared  —  the 
flash  of  her  pretty  ankle  the  last  glimpse  he  had 
of  her. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Allston  blew  out  the  big  lamp  on  the  table  and 
sank  down  in  a  chair  before  the  open  fire.  He 
was  tired  neither  physically  nor  mentally.  And 
yet  in  some  ways  he  was  glad  to  be  alone.  For 
the  last  few  hours  he  had  been  under  a  nervous 
strain  in  Wilmer's  presence.  He  was  like  a  man 
in  a  closed  room  with  many  doors  trying  to  feel 
his  way  out  through  one  opening  and  then 
another,  discovering  that  some  of  the  doors  gave 
a  little  way  and  others  not  at  all,  in  the  end  to  be 
left  exactly  where  he  started.  Further,  to  com- 
plicate matters,  that  thin  voice  in  the  dark  out- 
side still  called  to  him.  He  heard  it  even  now 
above  the  rustling  and  creaking  and  eerie  moan 
of  a  rising  wind  beating  against  the  house,  pre- 
sage of  a  storm. 

It  was  extraordinary  to  him  that  such  a  situa- 
tion could  have  developed  out  of  such  innocu- 
ous material.  The  whole  adventure  had  begun 
so  lazily  and  drowsily !  Half  asleep  at  the  wheel 
of  his  wheezy  gray  runabout  he  had  been  keep- 
ing to  twenty  miles  an  hour  over  a  country  road 


BIG  LAUREL  147 

that  seemed  as  though  It  might  end  at  any  time 
in  primeval  forest.  It  was  just  the  setting  he  had 
sought  for  that  complete  relaxation  which  was  to 
allow  his  mind,  muddied  by  two  years  of  war, 
to  settle  into  the  placid  pool  it  always  had  been. 
So  it  had  seemed  about  to  do  when  Roxie  Kester 
appeared  in  the  road  and  forced  his  head-on  col- 
lision with  a  chestnut-oak.  But  that  seemed 
merely  like  a  temporary  interruption.  The  kind- 
ness of  the  Howes  offered  him  just  as  good  an 
opportunity  to  bask  in  the  sun  as  did  the  open 
road.  This  was  a  golden  land  dripping  with  milk 
and  honey  where  a  man  need  not  keep  his  eyes 
more  than  half  open.  It  was  a  country  of  blue 
sky  and  birds  and  shocked  wheat  and  flowers  and 
people  at  their  ease. 

It  still  was.  If  he  could  only  get  hold  of  that 
idea  and  keep  it,  he  might  find  that  the  present 
crisis  which  appeared  so  acute  was  merely  a  mor- 
bid mental  condition  unwarranted  by  fact.  He 
was  only  a  guest  in  passing.  He  had  distorted 
his  values.  This  was  only  a  bypath  incident  not 
to  be  taken  too  seriously.  The  main  road  of  his 
life  lay  in  another  direction,  though  where  only 
the  Lord  knew.   Somehow  it  must  be  related  to 


148  BIG  LAUREL 

the  past  he  had  already  lived,  and  must  develope 
out  of  those  surroundings  with  which  he  was 
already  familiar. 

Yet  it  was  not  easy  to  think  of  any  future 
which  should  eliminate  this  girl  who  had  just 
left  him.  He  had  known  women  twenty  years, 
neighbors  at  home,  whom  he  could  banish  with 
less  difficulty.  He  had  seen  them  with  his  eyes 
alone.  He  had  never  made  them  part  of  his 
thoughts  —  of  his  deeper  thoughts.  And  they  had 
never  made  him  question  himself.  Nor  had  they 
ever  made  him  feel. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  he  found  himself 
most  baffled  in  his  relations  with  Wilmer.  She 
made  him  think,  but  she  parried  every  thought. 
She  made  him  feel,  but  she  checked  every  expres- 
sion of  that  emotion.  There  were  moments  when 
he  felt  he  could  break  through  that  reserve,  but 
he  never  quite  dared  to  tr>^  after  his  one  attempt. 
Then,  too,  he  was  held  in  check  by  the  conditions 
under  which  he  was  a  guest  here.  Unvouched 
for,  he  was  under  even  deeper  obligations  to  his 
host  than  one  accepted  under  the  conventions.  He 
was  in  honor  bound  not  to  violate  the  trust  im- 
posed upon  him.    He  could  advance  no  farther 


BIG  LAUREL  149 

than  he  was  asked.  And  Wilmer  was  not  always 
easy  to  interpret. 

To-night  he  was  more  bewildered  by  her  than 
ever.  The  net  result  of  this  evening  had  been  to 
increase  the  tension  between  them  while  leaving 
everything  at  loose  ends.  He  could  not  fairly 
blame  her  alone  for  that,  however,  while  he  was 
ragged  in  his  own  thinking.  It  began  to  look  as 
though  this  clarifying  process  which  had  ap- 
peared so  simple  during  the  first  few  days  of  his 
flight  from  home  was  becoming  decidedly  com- 
plicated. If  he  had  succeeded  in  clearing  his  mind 
of  one  kind  of  jumble,  that  of  troop  trains  and 
transports,  and  the  braggart  tyranny  of  superior 
officers,  it  was  only  to  fill  it  with  another  kind 
dominated  by  quite  as  autocratic  a  type  of  tyr- 
anny. It  seemed  that  a  woman's  eyes  could,  in 
their  way,  bully  as  effectively  as  any  uniformed 
overlord  with  his  jingling  spurs. 

Allston  began  to  pace  the  floor  again.  The 
wind  was  increasing  in  volume  and  driving  scat- 
tered raindrops  against  the  windows  with  the  ve- 
locity of  bullets.  An  occasional  flash  of  lightning 
cut  a  blazing  path  through  the  dark  like  star 
shells,  though  the  light  was  not  held.  And  from  a 


ISO  BIG  LAUREL 

distance,  beyond  the  mountains,  he  heard  the  low 
rumble  of  thunder  so  like  the  heavy  guns  that  used 
to  growl  through  the  night  over  Flanders  that  at 
moments  it  was  difficult  for  him  not  to  believe 
he  was  back  there  again.  This  might  have  been 
one  of  those  deserted  houses  in  that  old  French 
town  in  which  he  had  been  billeted  except  that  it 
lacked  the  marks  of  age.  But  it  is  the  mood  that 
counts  in  a  picture;  not  the  details.  The  Huns 
were  attacking  over  Green  Mountain  and  he  was 
here  to  do  his  little  part  to  drive  them  back.  Bar- 
barism was  in  a  new  clash  with  civilization.  He 
felt  this  so  keenly  that  his  hand  as  another  star 
shell  burst  went  back  to  his  automatic.  And  then 
came  the  voice  again. 

This  time  it  was  more  individualized.  It 
sounded  like  the  voice  of  Roxie  Kester.  That  was 
absurd,  of  course,  but  the  notion  gave  him  a 
start.  The  girl  had  acted  strangely  when  she 
came  back  to  the  kitchen  from  across  the  fields. 
It  was  queer  that  she  had  been  out  there  at  all 
except  that  young  women  were  subject  to  odd 
spells  of  that  sort.  He  had  not  been  satisfied  when 
he  left  her  and  might  have  been  considerably 
worried  had  not  other  matters  come  in  to  occupy 
his  attention. 


BIG  LAUREL  151 

Allston  tiptoed  through  the  kitchen  and  out- 
doors to  see  if  her  Hght  was  burning.  Her  win- 
dow was  dark.  The  wind  whipped  his  face  and 
drove  him  in.  Still  he  was  not  satisfied.  Action 
whetted  his  fears.  It  became  necessary  now,  if 
he  hoped  to  get  any  rest,  to  allay  his  anxiety  once 
for  all.  Striking  a  match  he  made  his  way  up  the 
stairs  to  the  door  of  Roxie's  room.  It  was  closed, 
but  he  listened  there  for  sound  of  her  breathing. 
He  heard  nothing,  but  that  proved  nothing.  Re- 
luctantly and  not  at  all  sure  of  the  explanation  of 
his  action  he  could  give  if  she  did  answer,  he 
knocked.  He  received  no  reply  and  knocked  again 
—  louder  this  time.  But  even  so  he  was  held 
back  by  his  dread  of  rousing  the  rest  of  the  house- 
hold. It  would  be  easier,  should  his  alarm  prove 
groundless,  to  explain  his  conduct  to  Roxie  than 
to  either  Howe  or  Wilmer. 

The  continued  silence  became  ominous  and 
oppressive.  He  was  finding  it  difficult  to  breathe 
as  though  the  hall  were  being  exhausted  of  air. 
Cautiously  he  turned  the  handle  and  pushed. 
The  door  opened,  but  the  room  was  in  utter  dark- 
ness. 

He  whispered  her  name: 


152  BIG  LAUREL 

"  Roxie." 

Then: 

"  Are  you  there,  Roxle  ?  " 

Silence  now  gave  him  a  direct  answer.  He 
struck  a  match  and  held  it  above  his  head.  The 
bureau  drawers  were  open  and  one  shoe  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room.  The  white  bed  was  empty 
and  undisturbed.  On  the  table  he  saw  a  lamp  and 
lighted  this.  Then  he  caught  sight  of  the  note  on 
the  pillow.  The  fact  it  was  addressed  to  him  was 
significant.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  she 
would  have  written  to  Wilmer.  As  he  read,  every 
word  justified  his  suspicions.  But  at  the  sentence, 
"Please  don't  hunt  for  me,"  he  saw  as  clear  as 
daylight  the  hand  of  Bud  Childers  in  the  affair. 

The  note  dropped  from  Allston's  nervous  fin- 
gers to  the  floor.  He  did  not  pick  it  up.  He  knew 
every  word  by  heart.  For  two  hours  she  had  been 
calling  to  him  and  he  had  not  answered. 

But  why,  if  in  danger,  had  she  not  called  upon 
him  when  he  sought  her  after  dinner  and  offered 
his  aid?  The  note  answered  that.  She  was  trying 
to  protect  him.  In  some  way,  by  some  ruse,  Bud 
had  bullied  her  into  following  him  and  she  had 
deliberately  sacrificed  her  one  chance  of  escape. 


BIG  LAUREL  153 

The  inevitable  deduction  swept  Allston  back  to 
that  night  at  the  bend  in  the  road  when  she 
stood  before  him  with  her  head  tilted  back  and 
her  eyes  closed.  In  her  white  dress  silvered  with 
moonlight  she  had  made  a  romantic  figure.  She 
was  like  some  gentle  creature  sung  of  in  idyls.  A 
man  might  well  pray  to  be  saved  from  such  a 
temptation  as  she  offered  him  then.  He  had  not 
been  insensible,  though,  thank  God,  he  had  held 
steady.  It  had  for  him  been  but  a  passing  mo- 
ment, but  for  her  it  had  meant  more.  He  saw  it 
now  —  fool  that  he  had  been.  He  saw  it  now  when 
it  was  possibly  too  late. 

There  was  one  chance  in  a  hundred  that  Roxie 
had  gone  home.  After  that  the  chances  were  a 
hundred  to  one  that  she  had  gone  with  Bud  Chil- 
ders.  It  was  now  ten  o'clock.  Within  two  hours 
he  would  know. 

Allston  had  not  been  so  coolly  sure  of  himself 
since  he  stepped  out  of  uniform.  His  face  hard- 
ened and  something  of  that  merciless  tint  of  blue 
steel  took  the  place  in  his  eyes  of  their  natural 
color.  His  thoughts  clicked  into  place  like  car- 
tridges in  a  machine  gun.  All  the  qualities  that 
military  discipline  had  trained  into  him  reas- 


154  BIG  LAUREL 

serted  themselves  with  automatic  precision.  He 
moved  quickly  and  without  hesitancy. 

Crossing  the  room  he  extinguished  the  lamp 
and  came  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him.  There 
was  no  need  of  rousing  the  others.  They  had 
much  better  sleep  on.  He  meant  to  have  the  girl 
back  here  before  morning,  and  in  that  case  there 
was  no  reason  why  they  should  ever  be  disturbed 
by  knowledge  of  the  episode. 

He  came  downstairs  and  went  to  his  room  for 
a  coat  and  hat.  Here  he  stopped  to  examine  his 
revolver  and  to  slip  into  his  pocket  the  remainder 
of  his  cartridges.  He  found  about  a  dozen.  He 
closed  his  own  door,  returned  to  the  sitting-room 
to  make  sure  the  fire  was  safe  there,  and  hurried 
out. 

It  was  pitch  dark  —  inky  dark.  The  wind  was 
still  blowing  and  the  rain  increasing  in  volume. 
He  bent  against  it  as  he  took  the  road  to  Roxie's 
house  he  had  followed  before.  It  was  pitiful  that 
he  should  be  obliged  to  waste  the  time  necessary 
to  eliminate  that  faint  possibility,  but  it  was  es- 
sential. Before  he  ventured  to  force  himself  into 
Childers's  shack  he  must  be  certain  of  his  facts. 
That  was  too  grim  a  business  to  undertake  except 
upon  firm  ground. 


BIG  LAUREL  155 

His  progress  was  slow  and  labored.  The  road 
was  rough,  and  he  frequently  found  himself  out 
of  it  and  floundering  among  the  bushes.  Always 
there  was  the  temptation  to  quicken  his  pace  and 
always  he  resisted  that.  He  must  take  no  chances 
of  spraining  an  ankle.  And  he  must  keep  plenty 
of  strength  in  reserve.  He  had  seen  too  much  of 
the  reckless  folly  of  advancing  to  a  point  farther 
than  support  warranted.  He  had  v/atched  whole 
regiments  wiped  out  as  they  occupied  their  for- 
ward positions  with  spent  strength,  the  helpless 
victims  of  fresh  attacking  troops.  He  must  not  be 
exhausted  when  he  finally  reached  the  home  of 
Bud  Childers. 

Not  that  he  anticipated  any  such  weakness. 
He  had  learned  that,  given  the  occasion,  one's 
resources  are  well-nigh  inexhaustible.  Again  and 
again  in  France  he  had  found  himself  just  be- 
ginning to  draw  on  his  strength  at  the  point 
where  in  civil  life  he  would  have  been  ready  to 
quit.  And  never  had  he  been  dominated  by  so 
inflexible  a  will  as  now.  Duty  and  patriotism  will 
carry  a  man  far,  but  such  a  call  as  this  which 
now  urged  him  on  will  carry  a  man  even  farther. 
Here  was  Duty  linked,  not  with  an  abstract  idea, 


156  BIG  LAUREL 

but  with  the  most  concrete  appeal  a  man  can 
know  —  that  of  a  woman  in  need  of  his  strength. 

As  Allston  fought  his  way  on,  as  he  pitted  his 
might  against  the  obstacles  in  his  path,  Roxie  be- 
came still  more  clearly  outlined.  He  thought  of 
her  less  as  a  child.  This  startled  him  at  first.  It 
left  him  uneasy.  It  was  better,  in  some  ways,  to 
think  of  her  as  a  child. 

But  this  thing  she  had  done  for  him  —  if  his 
deductions  were  correct  —  was  the  act  of  a 
woman.  And  such  a  woman !  Unreasonable  and 
unwarranted  it  was!  Unjustified  and  uncalled- 
for  it  w^as !  But  also  it  was  magnificent! 

This  much  Allston  appreciated  and  responded 
to  with  a  thrill.  And  yet  even  so  he  had  not  be- 
gun to  plumb  the  depths  of  her  intense  little  be- 
ing. He  interpreted  her  act  as  one  of  heroic  self- 
sacrifice  based  upon  an  exaggerated  sense  of  grati- 
tude for  the  protection  he  had  given  her.  That 
was  enough,  God  knows,  to  spur  him  on,  but  it 
left  out,  too,  so  much  —  so  much. 

The  windows  of  the  Kester  house  were  dark 
when  he  reached  there.  That  told  him  nothing. 
He  pounded  at  the  door  without  response  and 
that  told  him  more.  Roxie  would  not  have  been 


BIG  LAUREL  157 

as  difficult  as  this  to  rouse.  With  his  worst  fears 
revived,  he  kicked  at  the  wooden  panels  as  the 
rain  beat  down  upon  him.  The  passing  minutes 
were  becoming  of  more  and  more  value.  He  tried 
the  latch  and  shook  it  impatiently  when  he  heard 
shuffling  footsteps  within.  A  voice  called  to  him 
—  the  voice  of  an  old  and  timid  woman. 

"Who's  thet.f'"  she  demanded. 

He  answered  with  a  question. 

"Is  Roxie  there .^" 

"  Roxie  hyar  ^  No,  Roxie  ain't  hyar.  She  's  up 
to  Miss  Wilmer's.  Who  be  you-all.?" 

Allston  had  already  taken  a  step  back.  The 
wind  tore  his  reply  to  shreds.  He  must  make  the 
mountain  road  now  as  fast  as  the  night  would  let 
him  —  remembering  always  to  keep  plenty  of 
strength  in  reserve. 

One  thing  helped  him;  the  afternoon  he  had 
returned  from  that  little  cove  on  the  mountain- 
side Howe  had  questioned  him  as  to  where  he  had 
been.  As  he  told,  Howe  clapped  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  Big  Laurel  is  up  there.  Keep  away,"  he 
warned. 

"Why?" 


158  BIG  LAUREL 

"You  must  have  been  within  a  few  hundred 
yards  of  Childers's  shack." 

It  was  not  that  fact  which  left  so  vivid  an 
impression  in  Allston's  mind,  but  what  he  had 
thought  while  walking  by  the  side  of  Wilmer.  He 
was  glad  enough  now,  however,  that  it  served  to 
place  him.  He  could  have  returned  to  that  cove 
with  his  eyes  shut. 

Against  a  background  of  storm-rent  clouds  and 
the  formidable  bulk  of  mountains  and  a  sea  of 
tossing  trees,  a  man  is  but  a  tiny  object.  With  the 
night  and  the  winds  and  the  beating  rain  against 
him,  it  would  seem  that  he  would  count  for  no 
more  than  a  dead  leaf.  And  yet  ever  since  man 
was  man  and  not  merely  some  grubbing  insect, 
the  elements  have  spent  their  fury  against  him  in 
vain.  Again  and  again  on  the  ocean  and  on  the 
desert,  in  the  frozen  North  and  the  tropic  South, 
on  mountain-top  and  plain,  man  has  faced  their 
worst  and  often  enough  survived.  If  at  times  he 
is  pitifully  easy  to  kill,  at  other  times  he  is  un- 
conquerable. 

Yard  by  yard  Allston  fought  his  way  along  the 
mountain  road  that  follows  the  slope  of  the  hills 
and  past  the  Lutheran  church  which  gave  him  his 


BIG  LAUREL  159 

bearings.  With  the  creek  on  his  right  he  stumbled 
through  a  heavy  growth  of  hemlocks,  passing  sev- 
eral shacks  in  darkness.  Each  time  he  mastered 
the  temptation  to  rouse  the  occupants  and  in- 
quire his  way.  To  do  this  would  be  possibly  to 
reveal  his  business  —  would  inevitably  reveal  his 
presence  in  the  neighborhood  —  and  that  seemed 
unwise.  These  people  were  certain  to  be  more 
friendly  to  Bud  than  to  himself.  In  the  end  he 
might  be  obliged  to  take  that  risk,  but  he  knew 
that  Bud's  shack  opened  somewhere  from  this 
road  into  a  clearing,  and  he  felt  sure  that  how- 
ever late  the  hour  he  would  find  it  lighted.  If  he 
knew  Roxie  there  would  be  little  sleep  for  Bud 
that  night.  Whatever  club  the  bully  held  over 
her  head  to  make  her  follow  would  not  be  effec- 
tive enough  to  cow  her  utterly.  If  left  alone  Bud 
might  win  in  the  end,  but  he  would  have  a  fight 
on  his  hands  that  could  not  be  settled  in  a  few 
hours. 

That  was  a  fair  argument,  and  yet  with  every 
passing  minute  Allston  felt  the  strain  of  the  de- 
lay. She  might  not  be  conquered,  but  she  must 
be  suffering.  And  for  every  second  of  pain  he  was 
responsible.  Unwittingly  she  had  placed  him  in  a 
position  where  this  could  not  be  otherwise. 


i6o  BIG  LAUREL 

So  for  another  ten  minutes  he  floundered  on, 
and  then,  to  the  right  and  ahead,  he  caught 
through  the  trees  —  flashing  on  and  off  as  the 
waving  branches  passed  before  it  —  a  yellow 
gleam.  He  pressed  on  faster  and  nearer.  A  sharp 
turn  brought  him  to  the  log  which  crossed  the 
creek  to  the  clearing  before  the  shack.  Cautiously 
he  moved  over  this.  The  light  from  the  uncur- 
tained window  did  not  carry  far  and  the  rain 
dripping  down  the  panes  obscured  his  sight  of  the 
room  within.  He  paused  now,  a  little  out  of 
breath.  It  was  not  easy  to  wait  when  so  near, 
but  this  was  no  easy  task  he  had  before  him.  A 
single  careless  move  might  end  for  all  time  his 
usefulness. 

He  had  once  read  somewhere  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  an  accident;  that  every  mishap  can 
be  traced  directlv  to  some  one's  mistake.  He  had 

0 

always  remembered  that.  It  had  served  him  in 
good  stead  in  the  war.  It  helped  him  to  a  cool 
judgment  that  cut  down  his  own  mistakes. 

When  he  moved  a  few  steps  nearer  the  window, 
he  was  in  complete  command  of  himself.  The 
driving  rain  was  to  his  advantage.  It  made  it 
easier  to  look  in  than  to  look  out.  With  his  auto- 


BIG  LAUREL  i6i 

matic  in  his  hand  he  crept  to  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  shack,  and  standing  a  little  to  one  side  of 
the  window  peered  in.  What  he  saw  made  it  very 
difficult  for  him  to  breathe  normally. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Allston,  from  where  he  stood  outside  the  shack, 
had  Childers  within  range,  and  as  he  saw  the  big 
fellow  standing  before  the  shrinking  figure  of 
Roxie,  he  was  tempted  to  shoot.  He  was  re- 
strained by  his  unwillingness  at  this  point  to  kill 
and  by  fear  of  the  consequences,  if  he  attempted 
merely  to  cripple  the  man,  that  might  follow  to 
the  girl  before  he  could  reach  her  side.  He  must 
be  patient  a  few  moments  longer  and  if  possible 
get  inside  the  house.  Only  then  could  he  secure 
the  drop  on  Bud. 

Allston  knew  nothing  of  the  floor  plan  of  the 
shack,  but  he  saw  a  door  leading  from  the  main 
room  to  the  left  of  the  fireplace  and  so  supposed 
there  must  be  another  entrance  in  the  rear.  If 
not  he  might  find  an  unfastened  window.  In  this 
reconnoitering,  the  tempest  which  had  until  now 
opposed  him  changed  its  colors  and  assisted.  He 
could  move  freely  without  danger  of  being  over- 
heard. Circling  to  the  left  he  went  around  the 
spring-house.  But  now  he  no  longer  had  the  help 
of  the  lamp  within.  He  had  to  feel  his  way,  fol- 


BIG  LAUREL  163 

lowing  the  house  as  a  blind  man  does.  He  came 
to  a  darkened  window  —  the  kitchen  window  — 
passed  it  and  so  reached  the  frame  of  a  door.  His 
fingers  feh  their  w^ay  across  this  to  a  latch  which 
rattled  as  he  touched  it.  He  could  thank  the  wind 
once  more  for  disarming  suspicion  at  such  un- 
usual noises.  All  the  evening  long  it,  too,  had 
been  fumbling  at  this  latch. 

But  Allston  knew  that  once  he  opened  this 
door  the  wind  would  follow  him  in  and  rushing 
ahead  announce  a  visitor.  This  would  give  Bud 
the  time  he  needed  to  seize  his  gun.  And  that  in 
turn  meant  shooting  to  the  death  without  either 
explanation  or  argument.  This  Allston  wished 
to  avoid,  if  possible.  Bully  and  brute  the  man 
might  be,  but  he  was  entitled  to  a  hearing ;  bully 
and  brute  the  man  might  be,  but  Allston  pre- 
ferred that  some  one  other  than  himself  should 
administer  that  kind  of  grim  justice.  He  himself 
had  no  desire  to  kill.  His  concern  was  with  Roxie 
rather  than  Bud.  He  was  perfectly  willing  to  give 
the  man  a  mauling  if  opportunity  offered,  but  his 
chief  business  was  to  rescue  the  girl. 

Allston  had  noted  that  to  the  right  of  this  out- 
side door  and  just  inside  there  was  another  room. 


i64  BIG  LAUREL 

With  that  in  mind  a  plan  of  action  suggested  it- 
self which  would  make  that  eager  wind  at  his 
back  serve  instead  of  foil  him.  If  he  swung  the 
outer  door  wide  and  stepped  in  quickly,  he  could 
shove  open  this  inner  door  and  hide  himself  in 
that  room.  The  wind  hurrying  ahead  would  sum- 
mon Bud,  who,  the  chances  were,  would  think  the 
storm  had  beaten  open  the  door.  Allston  then 
might  have  his  chance  at  the  man  as  he  passed. 
If  not,  he  would  still  have  the  advantage  of  being 
inside  the  house.  He  would  retain  that  advantage 
even  if  Bud  started  a  search.  For  Bud  to  find  him 
must  hold  a  light. 

Allston  acted  promptly  —  the  one  gamble  he 
was  taking  being  that  the  door  was  locked. 
Gently  he  pressed  the  latch  and  shoved.  The  door 
opened  and  the  storm  swept  down  the  narrow 
hall  to  the  lighted  living-room  beyond.  Allston 
stepped  noiselessly  into  the  right-hand  room, 
keeping  as  near  the  sill  as  was  safe.  He  heard  an 
oath  from  Bud  and  then  silence. 

Childers  was  waiting  to  see  what,  if  anything, 
followed  the  opening  of  that  door.  Nothing  fol- 
lowed but  wind-laden  rain  that  made  the  lamp 
'  flicker.  The  hall  was  only  feebly  lighted,  but  when 


BIG  LAUREL  165 

Bud  cautiously  ventured  to  look  the  length  of  it 
he  saw  enough  to  be  assured  that  it  was  empty. 
And  so,  quite  off  his  guard,  he  strode  down  to 
close  the  door.  This  time  he  shoved  the  bolt  that 
locked  it. 

It  was  while  he  was  at  this  task,  both  hands  oc- 
cupied, that  Allston  sprang.  He  brought  the  butt 
of  his  automatic  down  hard  just  over  the  man's 
temple.  Bud  staggered  and  Allston  threw  his  full 
weight  upon  him  bearing  him  to  the  floor.  At  the 
same  time  he  found  the  fellow's  throat.  For  a 
moment  Allston  held  on,  but  Bud  was  quite  still. 
In  falling  he  had  struck  his  head  hard  enough  to 
knock  him  out. 

From  the  next  room  Allston  heard  the  moan- 
ing cries  of  the  girl.  He  called  her. 

"  Roxie ! " 

The  cr>'ing  ceased  instantly,  but  he  received  no 
reply. 

"  Roxie,  come  here." 

She  came  on  a  run  then.  She  saw  Allston  still 
full  length  upon  the  man. 

"Find  me  a  rope,"  he  ordered. 

"Mister  Allston!" 

"  Quick ! " 


1 66  BIG  LAUREL 

She  vanished  to  reappear  a  few  seconds  later 
with  a  piece  of  stout  cord.  Allston  turned  the 
fellow  over  and  bound  together  his  two  wrists 
with  the  army  hitch  designed  for  just  this  pur- 
pose. Roxie  watched,  dazed  and  breathless  with 
both  fear  and  blind  joy. 

"  Now  bring  the  lamp,"  he  commanded. 

As  long  as  Allston  issued  orders  to  her  she 
could  act.  If  only  he  would  continue  —  indefi- 
nitely. That  was  all  she  asked  for,  just  the  privi- 
lege of  obeying. 

When  she  returned,  Allston  stooped  and  ex- 
amined the  man's  wounds.  There  were  two  ugly 
gashes,  one  over  the  temple  and  one  in  the  blue- 
black  hair.  Allston  sent  for  water  and  when  she 
brought  it  sopped  his  handkerchief  in  it  and 
washed  away  the  blood  which  had  trickled  over 
Childers's  face.  Both  wounds  he  discovered  to  be 
superficial.  He  cleaned  them  as  best  he  could  and 
felt  Bud's  pulse.  It  was  steady.  In  fact,  before  he 
was  through  with  his  examination  and  first-aid 
treatment  the  man  had  begun  to  revive.  His  eyes 
flickered  open  and  he  tried  to  make  his  feet.  That 
was  not  easy  with  tied  hands  and  became  further 
complicated  as  Allston  promptly  sat  on  his  legs. 


BIG  LAUREL  167 

"Steady  there,"  he  warned.  "You're  going  to 
stay  put  for  a  while." 

Bud  experienced  difficulty  at  first  in  under- 
standing the  situation.  This  was  like  some  evil 
dream.  He  twisted  and  writhed  for  a  moment 
and  then  settled  back  to  the  inevitable.  His  lips 
twitched,  but  he  did  not  speak. 

"Now,  Roxie,"  said  Allston,  "we  must  find 
more  rope.  Look  around,  will  you  ^  " 

"You  —  you  gotter  watch  him,"  she  panted. 

"I'll  watch  him,  but  I  can't  spend  the  rest  of 
the  evening  on  his  legs.  It's  late  and  —  we've  a 
long  way  to  go." 

She  brought  an  old  leather  halter-strap.  This 
served  well  enough,  though  Allston  could  not 
fasten  it  as  tight  as  he  wished.  However,  it  made 
it  safe  to  leave  the  man  and  he  was  beginning  to 
feel  the  cold.  First,  however,  he  took  the  precau- 
tion to  remove  Bud's  gun  —  a  villainous-looking 
Colt  big  enough  to  bore  a  hole  the  size  of  a 
walnut. 

"Better  stay  quiet,"  warned  Allston.  "If  I 
hear  you  moving  I  '11  find  more  rope.  Get  that?  " 

Bud's  level  eyes,  hard  as  dagger  blades,  met 
those  of  steel  blue  before  him.  He  deigned  no  re- 


1 68  BIG  LAUREL 

ply.  His  face  was  as  immobile  as  though  cut  from 
granite. 

Allston  picked  up  the  lamp  and  led  the  way 
into  the  next  room.  He  tossed  a  log  on  the  open 
fire  and  removed  his  wet  coat,  Roxie  watching 
him  in  silence  and  awe.  He  warmed  his  numb 
hands  over  the  blaze,  surveying  the  room  in  de- 
tail as  he  did  so.  It  was  cleaner  than  he  had  ex- 
pected and  more  attractive.  With  the  cold  wind 
rattling  the  windows,  hopelessly,  and  the  rougher 
features  of  the  surroundings  subdued  by  shad- 
ows, with  the  warmth  of  the  wood  flames  tingling 
pleasantly  on  his  skin,  he  reacted  quickly  from 
the  ugly  incidents  of  the  last  few  minutes.  What, 
a  short  time  ago,  had  seemed  so  grave  a  problem 
was  now  no  problem  at  all.  The  moment  he  felt 
Roxie  to  be  safe  and  sound,  as  obviously  she  was 
with  Bud  eliminated,  he  was  rather  inclined  to 
accept  the  whole  situation  with  easy  good  humor. 
He  turned  to  Roxie  with  a  smile.  She  was  stand- 
ing back  against  the  wall  —  as  far  back  as  she 
could  get.  She  was  wearing  no  hat  and  her  hair 
had  become  loosened,  a  detached  strand  hanging 
over  one  temple  and  another  over  her  forehead. 
With  a  quick  movement  and  in  some  embarrass- 


BIG  LAUREL  169 

ment  as  she  saw  him  looking  at  her,  she  swept 
these  back  into  place. 

To  Allston  she  was  just  a  child  again.  He  sank 
into  a  chair  with  his  wet,  muddy  boots  thrust 
towards  the  flames. 

"  Roxie,"  he  said,  "  you  certainly  arranged  a 
real  hike  for  me  to-night." 

She  w^as  silent  a  moment  and  then  she  broke 
out: 

"What  fer  —  did  you  come.?  " 

"  To  take  you  home,"  he  answered  easily. 

"Who  asked  ye?  "  she  demanded. 

"  You  did." 

''  You  lie !  " 

She  spoke  without  thinking.  The  phrase 
sounded  harsher  than  she  intended.  She  meant 
only  to  deny. 

Allston  turned  in  his  chair  to  face  her. 

"  Come  over  here  by  the  fire." 

"  I  don'  w^anter." 

He  rose. 

"  Then  I  '11  have  to  come  to  you,  but  I  wanted 
to  dry  my  feet." 

At  that  she  ran  to  his  side. 

"Please,"  she  begged,  "yer  boots  is  all  muddy 
an'  wet." 


170  BIG  LAUREL 

As  he  sat  down  again  willingly  enough,  for  his 
legs  really  were  heavy  and  his  feet  bruised,  she 
knelt  by  his  chair,  and  before  he  realized  what 
she  was  doing  began  to  unlace  his  shoes.  As  she 
did  so  her  voice  fell  into  a  low  crooning. 

"  Po'  feet,"  she  murmured.  "  They  's  all  wet  an' 
hurt  —  they's  all  wet  an'  hurt.  Oh,  I  didn'  know 
you'd  come.   I  didn'  know.   It's  all  my  fault." 

Her  fingers  were  fumbling  at  the  strings  —  her 
bent  head  by  his  knee.  He  placed  his  hand  upon 
her  silky  flaxen  hair. 

"  Roxie,"  he  protested,  "don't  do  that." 

"  Yer  '11  ketch  yo'  death  o'  cold.  An'  it  '11  be  all 
my  fault." 

"Get  up,  child." 

"They're  mos'  done  now." 

It  was  true  enough.  She  had  them  off  before  he 
could  object  further  and  had  placed  them  on  the 
hearth. 

"  You  'd  spoil  any  man,  Roxie,"  he  smiled. 

"  I  never  done  thet  fer  no  man  afore,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"And  you  shouldn't  again." 

"  I  'd  do  it  fer  you  ag'in." 

"  I  shan't  ever  let  you." 


BIG  LAUREL  171 

"  Then  what  f er  did  ye  come  ? "  she  cried. 

"To  fetch  you  home." 

"Back  to  Miss  Wilmer's?" 

"  Certainly." 

He  was  a  bit  puzzled  by  her  questioning.  He 
did  not  know  where  it  was  leading,  but  he  had  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  that  it  was  leading  some- 
where it  should  not. 

"I  ain't  a-goin'  back  to  Miss  Wilmer's,"  she 
answ^ered  with  tightened  lips. 

"  Of  course  you  are,"  he  insisted  with  a  trace  of 
irritation. 

"  Who 's  a-goin'  to  make  me  ?  "  she  challenged. 

"Make  you.^  No  one.  You're  going  because 
it's  the  place  for  you  to  go;  because  you  want  to 

go. 

"  I  don't." 

"  Look  here,  Roxie  —  " 

"  I  don't,"  she  repeated,  with  a  sharp  stamp  of 
her  foot.  "An'  ef  you  wanter  go  an'  hold  her 
hand  some  more  you  kin  go." 

The  last  part  of  her  speech  was  a  wild,  uncon- 
strained outburst.  A  moment  ago  she  would  have 
choked  herself  before  she  would  have  allowed  it 
to  escape  her  lips.  Even  now  she  stood  back 
aghast,  though  still  aggressive. 


172  BIG  LAUREL 

"  Good  Lord !  "  exclaimed  AUston,  his  eyes  held 
to  her  by  the  intensity  of  her  passion. 

As  he  started  to  rise  she  sank  down  in  a  heap, 
her  legs  weak  beneath  her.  Leaning  forward  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Allston  retained  his 
seat.  He  did  not  dare  move;  did  not  dare  touch 
her.  He  was  confused  and  uncertain. 

"  Who 's  been  talking  to  you,  Roxie  ^ "  he 
frowned. 

"Bud  —  he  seen,"  she  choked. 

"  Saw  what  ?  " 

"Seen  you  a-holdin'  of  Miss  Wilmer's  hand 
down  to  the  cove." 

Suddenly  she  lifted  her  wet  face  to  his. 

"Unless  he  lied,"  she  trembled.  "Mebbe  he 
lied.  I  tol'  him  he  lied." 

Allston  caught  his  breath.  Bud  must  have  been 
in  the  bushes.  With  a  chance  like  that,  why 
hadn't  the  fellow  shot.^ 

"  Mebbe  he  lied,"  she  said  again,  her  face  eager 
with  new  hope. 

"But  if  he  didn't?" 

"  I  won't  never  go  down  ter  Miss  Wilmer's 
ag'in,"  she  choked. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

In  the  dark  hall,  bound  hand  and  foot,  Bud 
Childers  lay  flat  on  his  back  staring  into  Hell. 
In  the  old  days  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition  devil- 
ish minds  spent  days  of  thought  in  devising  new 
tortures  by  which  to  bring  with  a  nice  apprecia- 
tion of  every  fine  point  fresh  torments  to  indi- 
vidual cases.  The  infliction  of  pain  was  a  profes- 
sion. But  even  these  fanatical  experts  could  have 
contrived  nothing  better  adapted  to  the  especial 
requirements  of  Childers  than  this  which  Allston 
—  wholly  without  that  object  in  mind  —  had  hit 
upon. 

Bud's  very  soul  was  seared  by  the  realization 
of  how  he  had  been  foiled,  outwitted,  and  man- 
handled by  this  pink-cheeked  stranger  —  this 
honey-lapping  interloper  —  this  lily-fingered  ri- 
val. The  fellow  had  thrown  and  tethered  him  as 
though  he  were  a  yearling  steer.  And  he  had 
done  this  in  Bud's  own  home  —  in  his  own  in\a- 
olable  cove.  Allston  had  kicked  him  one  side  like 
a  yellow  dog  within  the  sacred  precincts  of  his 
own  shack  and  left  him  like  a  crippled  pup  in 


174  BIG  LAUREL 

the  dark.  And  Roxle  had  been  a  witness  of  this 
ignominy. 

But  that  was  not  all.  That  was  enough  to 
make  a  man  writhe  like  a  salted  worm,  but  it  was 
not  all.  Allston  was  still  here.  He  was  occupy- 
ing Bud's  own  living-room.  He  was  sitting  in 
one  of  Bud's  chairs.  He  was  warming  himself 
before  Bud's  iire.  And  this  with  Bud's  own 
woman  aiding  and  abetting. 

Gawd  A' mighty!   Gawd  A' mighty! 

As  the  full  meaning  of  it  all  burned  into  his 
brain,  Bud  found  it  as  difficult  to  breathe  as 
though  he  were  being  strangled.  He  could  hear 
their  voices  from  the  next  room,  though  he  could 
not  make  out  their  words.  That  was  worse.  It 
left  him  free  to  imagine.  They  were  talking  about 
him  and  laughing. 

Gawd  A' mighty! 

Bud  strained  at  the  ropes  binding  his  hands  — 
strained  until  the  cords  bit  into  his  flesh.  He 
tested  his  strong  legs  against  the  ankle  straps 
until  his  muscles  cramped  into  knots.  He  turned 
his  head  this  way  and  that,  his  mouth  open  like 
a  snapping  dog,  until  the  sweat  stood  out  upon 
his  thin  forehead  in  great  beads.    It  ran  down 


BIG  LAUREL  175 

into  his  narrowed  eyes,  burning  them  with  salt. 

Here  in  his  own  shack!  Here  where  for  three 
generations  no  man  had  dared  tread  without  be- 
ing asked!  Here  in  these  rooms  he  had  made 
ready  for  Roxie  —  she  who  on  the  morrow  was 
to  have  been  his  bride !  The  egg-eyed  hornyhead ! 

He  was  breathing  Hke  a  man  who  has  run  a 
mile.  His  big  hairy  chest  —  made  deep  by  so 
many  trips  up  and  down  the  mountain  —  heaved 
spasmodically.  It  was  well  his  heart  was  strong  — 
else  something  might  have  snapped.  It  was  carry- 
ing a  heavy  load.  As  it  was  there  were  moments 
when  those  thin  lips  covering  that  iron  jaw  grew 
first  purple  and  then  white. 

He  could  hear  their  voices  and  hear  their  feet 
when  they  moved.  If  Allston  had  only  come  out 
here  occasionally  and  kicked  him,  he  could  have 
stood  it  better.  But  the  man  ignored  him  as 
though  he  were  not  there.  They  talked  on  and 
for  all  he  knew  held  hands  —  in  the  room  where 
the  sprig  of  laurel  stood  in  a  bottle  on  the  table: 
on  the  table  covered  with  new  oilcloth  which  he 
had  ridden  to  the  village  to  buy  for  her.  This  man 
was  treading  with  his  dirty  feet  the  floor  Bud  had 
got  down  on  his  knees  to  clean  for  Roxie.  And 
she  was  in  there  beside  him. 


176  BIG  LAUREL 

Bud  lay  passive  for  a  few  minutes.  The  cold 
wind  slithered  in  beneath  the  door  and  marked 
him  as  with  a  knife-blade  where  it  touched  his 
skin.  It  played  with  his  disheveled  black  hair.  It 
worried,  like  a  playful  pup,  the  bottom  edges  of 
his  trousers  and  his  ankles.  It  maddened  him 
like  something  alive  bent  upon  teasing.  He 
kicked  out  at  it  with  both  tied  feet. 

And  the  man  who  had  done  all  this  was  the 
man  he  had  allowed  to  go  when  he  had  drawn 
a  sure  bead  on  his  heart  that  day  in  the  cove. 
What  a  cussed  fool  he  had  been  not  to  put  an 
end  to  him  then  and  there!  God  give  him  one 
more  such  chance  —  just  one  more!  God  give 
him  half  a  chance  —  just  a  fighting  chance! 
With  a  gun  or  a  knife  or  with  his  naked  fists.  He 
had  not  fought  with  his  hands  since  he  was  a 
bov,  but  now  he  felt  the  instincts  of  a  mountain 
cat.  He  craved  to  claw  and  to  tear.  He  ached  to 
bite  with  his  yellow  teeth  as  animals  bite. 

Again  he  tested  his  strength  until  the  muscles 
in  his  throat  stood  out  like  whipcords.  He  could 
not  understand  why  the  rope  did  not  break.  With 
the  strength  now  latent  in  him  he  felt  that  he 
could  snap  iron  chains.  It  was  maddening.  When 


BIG  LAUREL  177 

finally  he  sank  back  once  again  limp  after  his 
effort,  he  felt  a  choking  sensation  in  his  throat 
like  that  which  comes  to  small  boys  helpless  in 
their  rage.  Something  akin  to  tears  moistened 
his  hard  blue  eyes.  To  offset  this,  he  voiced  an 
ugly  oath  below  his  breath. 

He  flopped  over  on  his  side  to  relieve  the 
w^eight  of  his  body  on  his  hands.  There  was  hu- 
miliation in  that  act  itself.  It  gave  him  the  effect 
of  groveling.  He  had  seen  dogs,  belly  to  the 
ground,  crawl  along  like  that,  and  it  always  filled 
him  with  contempt.  He  felt  the  same  contempt 
for  himself.  But  quickly  following  every  such 
emotion  came  his  black  rage  against  Allston  — 
the  man  who  forced  upon  him  each  additional 
torment. 

Gawd  A'  mighty ! 

But  all  this  while  Bud  spoke  never  a  word  out 
loud.  There  were  moments  when  he  could  have 
shrieked  in  rage ;  there  were  other  moments  when 
wild  oaths  sought  expression.  But  every  time 
so  tempted  he  brought  his  thin  lips  tight  over  his 
teeth.  Had  Allston  himself  come  out  here,  he 
would  have  been  met  with  stolid  silence.  Speech 
to  Bud,  when  highly  moved,  expressed  nothing. 


178  BIG  LAUREL 

It  was  too  utterly  inadequate.  His,  emotions 
drove  him  to  stolidness  —  to  the  stoicism  of  the 
Indian. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  Bud  had  spent  in 
unavailing  struggle  the  first  mad  onrush  of  his 
blind  rage.  By  brute  force  he  had  failed  to  ac- 
complish anything  except  to  lacerate  his  flesh. 
He  accepted  this  fact  as  a  fresh  humiliation.  He 
had  pride  in  his  physical  strength.  The  deepest 
satisfaction  he  could  have  had  at  the  moment 
would  have  been  to  burst  these  bonds  Allston 
had  fastened  upon  him. 

Exhausted  mentally  and  physically,  he  lay 
quiet  for  a  moment.  Passive,  he  found  himself 
able  to  think  more  clearly.  It  was  barely  possible 
that  what  could  not  be  accomplished  in  one  way 
might  be  in  another.  A  rat  was  a  small  animal, 
and  yet  by  industry  and  patience  he  generally 
managed  to  secure  his  ends.  Bud  had  seen  them 
by  constant  gnawing  eat  their  way  through  oak 
beams  that  would  have  foiled  the  strength  of  a 
bear.  A  rope  was  made  up  of  many  fine  strands. 
If  a  man  could  break  them  one  by  one,  it  was 
only  a  question  of  time  when  he  would  have  them 
all  severed. 


BIG  LAUREL  179 

Bud  squirmed  his  long  fingers  tipped  with  hard 
nails  until  they  reached  the  hempen  cords.  Then 
he  began  to  scratch  against  them  —  slowly,  labo- 
riously, painfully.  It  was  a  tedious  process.  But 
the  rope  was  old.  He  could  feel  the  outer  strands 
fuzz  up  as  he  continued.  He  could  also  feel  the 
calloused  tips  of  his  fingers  quicken  as  the  skin 
wore  away.  It  was  a  question  which  would  last 
the  longer.  It  was  a  question  how  much  time  he 
had,  anyway.  But  with  those  voices  coming  to 
him  from  the  next  room  he  must  be  doing  some- 
thing. x4nd  one  can  never  tell. 

Gawd  A'  mighty,  if  he  should  get  free  —  ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

RoxiE  Kester  had  ridden  up  here  this  evening 
sitting  behind  Bud  and  holding  to  the  man's  big 
shoulders  to  keep  from  falling.  Bud  had  kept  the 
mare  to  a  walk  and  they  had  journeyed  in  silence. 
She  had  not  been  afraid.  This  was  not  altogether 
because  of  her  reliance  on  the  long-bladed 
kitchen  knife  which  she  had  slipped  from  her  bun- 
dle and  hidden  in  her  bosom,  although  this  had 
helped  to  steady  her.  But  the  deeper  reason  was 
that  even  on  that  long  wild  ride  she  had  thought 
less  of  herself  than  of  some  one  else.  She  had 
eliminated  herself  —  as  far  as  her  future  was  con- 
cerned—  the  moment  she  left  the  house  and 
joined  this  other.  She  had  made  her  decision. 
She  had  made  her  sacrifice.  Twice  her  Prince 
had  risked  his  life  for  her  and  now  she  was  risk- 
ing her  own  for  him.  She  was  doing  even  more. 
There  was  a  certainty  here.  A  man  may  clash 
with  another  man  —  may  clash  even  with  a  chest- 
nut-oak—  and  escape.  He  is  risking  only  his 
life.  But  a  woman  may  not  place  herself  in  such 
a  position  as  she  was  now  in  and  avoid  the  con- 


BIG  LAUREL  i8i 

sequences.  However  she  protected  herself  until 
morning,  it  made  the  next  step  inevitable.  Not 
to  marry  Bud  the  next  day  would  be  to  stand 
disgraced.  The  only  explanation  she  could  give 
that  would  justify  her  conduct,  she  must  not  give. 
The  toothless  old  gossips  would  roll  the  story 
around  their  tongues  like  snuff.  A  girl  does  not 
spend  the  night  in  a  mountain  shack  unless  she 
chooses. 

Yet  Roxie  was  neither  afraid  nor  depressed. 
She  w^as  in  a  state  of  exaltation  paralleled  only 
by  religious  ecstasy.  Love  —  such  romantic  love 
as  hers  —  is  heroic.  Heroism  is  nothing  but  com- 
plete and  utter  unselfishness.  Her  joy  came  in 
giving,  not  in  asking.  If  she  could  not  give  her- 
self to  him  she  would  give  herself  for  him. 

The  wonder  is  not  that  the  young  are  inspired 
to  such  idealistic  heights ;  the  wonder  comes  to 
the  old  and  sophisticated.  Men  and  women  are 
born  poets  —  women  more  often  than  men.  And 
poets  are  a  simple  people  living  outside  them- 
selves, in  touch  with  the  singing  stars.  Only  as 
they  turn  wise  and  think  of  themselves  do  they 
grow  blunt  and  blind  and  are  forced  to  grope 
their  way  on  the  surface  of  the  earth. 


1 82  BIG  LAUREL 

Roxie  could  allow  her  thoughts  to  wander  at 
will  on  that  ride  up  the  mountain-side.  She  could 
permit  them  to  take  flight  where  they  would.  She 
had  given  all  that  she  had  to  give  and  so  was  en- 
titled to  take  all  that  remained  for  her  to  take. 
There  was  no  need  of  repressions.  She  had  won 
the  complete  freedom  that  only  love  can  give. 

So  she  thought  of  Allston  as  she  chose  —  call- 
ing him  Ned  as  in  her  very  secret  heart  she  had 
long  called  him.  Aye,  she  could  kiss  his  hair  now 
and  his  white  forehead  and  his  lips.  Throwing 
back  her  head,  the  rain  beat  down  upon  her  face 
and  each  drop  was  like  a  kiss  back  from  him. 
There  were  thousands  of  them,  but  not  too  many. 
How  her  heart  leaped  at  the  thought!  How  it 
sang !  A  thousand,  ten  thousand  were  not  enough 
to  satisfy  her  hungry  heart. 

A  man  may  carry  a  lady  off  on  horseback  with- 
out carrying  her  heart  at  all.  A  man  may  take  a 
lady  into  the  black  forest  and  have  none  of  the 
best  of  her.  A  man  may  shut  a  lady  up  in  the 
fastness  of  his  shack  and  wonder  what  has  be- 
come of  her. 

Bud  dimlv  realized  that  much  an  hour  later.  It 
did  not  discourage  him,  but  it  puzzled  him.    He 


BIG  LAUREL  183 

had  looked  for  protest  and  outcry  and  he  was  met 
by  an  uncanny  silence.  Once,  when  he  tried  to 
take  her  hand,  he  was  warned  off,  but  even  then  so 
quietly  that  he  was  dazed.  At  the  end  of  another 
hour  he  was  staring  at  her  with  a  new  eagerness 
and  growing  passion  that  might  have  made  him 
dangerous — when  the  back  door  had  swung 
open  admitting  the  tempest. 

The  presence  of  Ned  Allston  was  in  reality 
fraught  with  more  tragic  consequences  to  Roxie 
than  to  Childers.  The  latter  had  been  thrown 
and  tied,  and  that  was  the  end  of  him.  But  Roxie 
had  been  set  free  —  and  that  was  not  the  end  of 
her.  She  had  been  released  from  the  end.  She 
was  forced  to  face  a  new  fight  —  a  fight  made 
more  intense  by  the  leeway  she  had  so  recently 
given  herself.  It  is  one  thing  to  stay  within 
bounds  and  another  to  move  out  of  bounds  and 


return  agam. 


Allston  in  the  last  few  hours  had  become 
more  distinctly  personal  to  her  than  before.  He 
had  stepped  into  reality:  so  much  so  that  when  he 
stood  before  her  in  the  flesh  she  was  half  ashamed 
to  face  him.  She  remembered  the  rain  and  her 
upturned  mouth.  It  was  because  of  that  she  had 
allowed  herself  to  speak  of  Wilmer. 


1 84  BIG  LAUREL 

He  had  not  denied  the  story  Bud  had  told  of 
what  he  saw  in  the  cove.  Then  it  was  true.  She 
was  sitting  on  the  floor,  Turk  fashion,  and 
Allston  was  still  in  his  chair  studying  her  with 
his  puzzled  blue  eyes.  To  herself  she  repeated 
over  and  over  again  the  question  she  had  asked 
of  him,  "  What  f er  had  he  come  ?  " 

Ail  he  was  doing  now  was  to  take  away  her 
dreams  —  the  one  thing  that  had  saved  her.  He 
was  not  changing  other  conditions  in  the  slight- 
est. He  was  making  them  even  worse.  Did  he 
think  she  wanted  to  go  back  to  Miss  Wilmer's 
and  watch  him  hold  her  hand.'* 

She  felt  the  venomous  sting  of  a  new  emotion 
—  of  jealousy.  The  poison  works  swiftly  in  such 
natures  as  hers. 

In  the  meanwhile  Allston  had  come  to  some 
realization  of  the  problem  he  faced.  Another 
man  might  have  been  quicker,  but  another  man 
would  not  have  been  Allston.  That  the  girl  had 
her  romantic  moments  he  was  aware — every  one, 
man  or  woman,  has  those ;  but  that  she  had  car- 
ried them  as  far  as  this  he  had  never  suspected. 
His  mind  had  been  far  too  occupied  in  another 
direction.  Even  on  his  way  up  here  when,  under 


BIG  LAUREL  185 

the  stress  of  the  struggle,  he  had  sensed  some- 
thing of  the  significance  of  her  act  and  that  in  a 
way  it  involved  him,  he  had  not  associated  it  with 
love.  Rather  had  it  seemed  like  a  magnificently 
impersonal  poetic  idea.  For  two  years,  in  France, 
he  had  been  in  touch  often  with  just  this  sort  of 
thing.  Again  and  again  he  had  seen  it  govern 
the  fine  acts  of  men  and  women  —  of  young  men 
and  women.  Under  the  spell  of  it  he  had  seen 
them  make  sacrifices  that  staggered  the  imagina- 
tion. Sometimes  it  was  in  the  name  of  country ; 
sometimes  in  the  name  of  duty;  sometimes  in  the 
name  of  honor;  sometimes  in  the  name  of  grati- 
tude—  but  always  it  was  utterly  impersonal. 

To  him  Roxie  from  the  beginning  had  seemed 
of  this  type.  She  reminded  him  in  many  ways  of 
those  extraordinary  young  peasant  women  with 
whom  he  had  come  into  such  fleeting  contact  — 
the  women  with  the  liquid  black  eyes  s®  quick  to 
respond  to  elemental  emotions,  but  so  steady/ 
withal  as  one  saw  them  in  their  mothers  and 
grandmothers.  Somehow  Allston  had  always 
understood  them  enough  to  respect  them,  which 
could  not  be  said  of  some  of  his  fellow  officers. 
He  had  glimpsed  the  finer  stuff  that  lay  below 


1 86  BIG  LAUREL 

the  tempting  smiles,  and  understood,  too,  some- 
thing of  the  abnormal  conditions  under  which 
they  were  living. 

Roxie  had  been  just  such  another,  though  un- 
der no  such  tension.  She  was  as  good  to  look 
upon  as  a  mountain  flower.  She  possessed  much 
of  the  same  natural  beauty  and  many  of  the  same 
natural  imperfections.  And  she  fitted  well  into 
her  own  surroundings,  appearing  best  in  the 
woods,  under  sun  or  moon.  She  was  at  her  best 
here  to-night  in  this  mountain  shack  where  the 
wind  and  the  rain  were  more  companions  than 
enemies.  In  the  glow  of  the  firelight  her  hair 
shone  like  spun  gold,  and  her  skin,  tanned  and 
even  freckled  in  places,  was  as  beautiful  as  the 
spotted  ochre  of  a  tiger  lily.  One  did  not  ask 
here  for  peaches  and  cream.  And  her  eyes  of 
light  blue  were  as  shallow  and  as  deep  as  the  sky 
at  noontime.  Her  nose  and  mouth,  a  trifle 
pinched,  but  wonderfully  alert  —  like  the  nose 
and  mouth  of  little  forest  things  dependent  for 
their  lives  on  smell  and  taste  —  held  him  where 
more  perfect  features  had  often  left  him  indiffer- 
ent. Her  perfect  little  body,  both  strong  and  light, 
had  its  own  beauty.  Rightly  she  should  have  been 


BIG  LAUREL  187 

barefooted.  He  had  a  notion  she  had  as  shapely 
a  foot  as  Trilby's. 

Back  of  these  physical  attributes  there  was  an 
undoubted  personality,  and  here  again  he  was 
forced  for  comparison  to  the  forest  creatures  — 
the  gentler  ones  like  the  doe  and  squirrel.  Naively 
wondering  and  trustful  he  saw  her,  ready  to 
respond  to  affection,  quick  to  start  at  danger. 
It  is  flattering  to  any  man  to  have  such  a  person- 
ality come  to  him  without  fear.  As  a  result  of  it 
a  man  may  feel  better  than  he  is. 

It  is  always  dangerous  to  compare  a  woman 
with  anything  but  a  woman.  It  is  dangerous  to 
compare  them,  an}^way.  Each  one  must  be  taken 
by  herself  no  matter  how  much  like  all  others  she 
turns  out  to  be  in  the  end. 

Allston,  in  reviewing  swiftly  his  few  points  of 
contact  with  Roxie,  could  find  nothing  on  his 
part  that  suggested  indiscretion.  He  might  justly 
take  a  certain  amount  of  satisfaction  in  that,  but 
it  did  not  alter  facts  —  if  what  he  was  beginning 
to  suspect  was  a  fact.  He  was  by  no  means  sure 
of  that  even  now.  He  meant  to  avoid  being  sure 
if  that  were  possible.  The  best  way  to  accomplish 
this  was  to  get  Roxie  out  of  here  at  once  and  back 
to  normal  conditions. 


1 88  BIG  LAUREL 

Allston  reached  for  his  boots.  They  were  still 
wet,  but  he  forced  them  on  and  laced  them.  Then 
he  took  his  automatic  and  stepped  out  into  the 
hall  to  make  sure  Bud  was  safely  tied.  He  found 
the  man  silent  and  motionless,  and  without 
speaking  to  him  returned  to  the  sitting-room.  His 
plan  v/as  to  notify  one  of  the  neighbors  on  his 
way  down  the  mountain  road  and  have  him  come 
up  and  free  the  fellow. 

Roxie  had  watched  from  the  corners  of  her 
eyes  every  move  Allston  made.  And  she  realized 
that  every  step  he  took  forced  her  that  much 
nearer  a  final  decision.  It  was  evident  that  he 
meant  to^go  back  and  intended  to  take  her  with 
him.  But  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  go  back  — 
impossible  for  many  reasons.  And  yet  of  them 
all  she  could  not  tell  him  one. 

It  was  impossible  because  she  could  no  longer 
remain  in  the  same  house  with  him  and  Miss 
Wilmer  —  and  yet  to  tell  him  why  would  be  to 
tell  him  all  and  she  had  told  him  too  much 
already. 

It  was  impossible  because  even  if  Miss  Wilmer 
accepted  her,  the  valley  folk  would  not.  Yet,  if 
she  told  him  that,  his  next  question  would  be  to 


BIG  LAUREL  189 

ask  why,  then,  had  she  come?  To  answer  that 
would  be  to  tell  him  all. 

It  was  impossible  finally  because  it  was  ut- 
terly impossible.  If  ever  she  left  this  house  with 
him,  Bud  remaining  behind  alive,  it  would  mean 
his  death  more  surely  than  as  though  she  had  not 
come  at  all.  She  knew  how  Bud  felt  out  there. 
She  knew  it  with  a  keen  realization  of  the  an- 
guish he  was  suffering,  which  amounted  at  mo- 
ments almost  to  pity.  Bud  —  he  deserved  it.  He 
had  brought  it  on  himself.  And  yet  it  was  cruel 
hard.  She  did  not  enjoy  seeing  any  one  suffer. 
When  she  saw  a  man  kick  a  vicious  dog,  she  was 
sorry  for  the  dog.  And  Bud  —  he  had  his  bad 
points,  but  he  was  not  a  dog.  Had  Allston  killed 
the  man  outright,  fighting  for  his  own  life  as  he 
had  a  right  to  do,  she  would  have  felt  no  regret. 
Obliged  to  choose  between  the  two  men,  she 
would  not  have  hesitated  to  choose  for  Allston. 
And  she  realized  that  all  Allston  had  done  to 
Bud,  after  coming  here,  was  necessary.  Only  he 
should  not  have  come. 

That  was  the  pity  of  it.  His  coming  left  her 
with  no  alternative  —  and  without  her  dreams. 
Bud  could  not  be  allowed  to  starve  to  death  out 


I90  BIG  LAUREL 

there.  Some  one  would  free  him.  Once  free,  he 
would  kill.  There  would  be  no  hand  left  to  stop 
him.  It  was  doubtful  if  now  even  she  could  stop 
him.  But  she  must  try. 

To  do  that  she  must  remain  behind  with  him. 
She  must  give  her  life  —  anything  Bud  asked  for 

—  to  buy  him  off  from  his  revenge.  He  would  ask 
all.  There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  Perhaps  in 
the  end  she  might  not  have  enough.  And  yet  if 
he  wanted  much  she  would  have  much  to  give. 
The  more  he  wanted,  the  more  she  would  be  able 
to  give.  So  in  the  end  she  must  make  him  want 

—  must  whet  his  appetite.  Here  was  a  grim  test 
for  a  woman. 

But  that  was  all  to  come  later.  For  the  present 
she  was  concerned  alone  with  Allston.  He  must 
go  and  she  must  stay.  The  sooner  this  happened, 
the  better  it  would  be  for  both.  And  this  drove 
her  quickly  and  definitely  to  her  final  sacrifice. 
There  was  just  one  way  in  which  she  could  bring 
this  about;  one  clear,  logical  way  that  would 
answer  for  all  time  his  every  question  and  send 
him  home  safe  and  happy  to  Wilmer.  It  came  to 
her,  as  he  reentered  the  room  with  his  jaws  set  so 
firmly,  that  she  was  half  afraid  of  him.   As  she 


BIG  LAUREL  191 

thought  of  her  plan,  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
faced  him  with  a  nervous  tremor.  Most  of  the 
color  had  gone  from  her  cheeks  on  the  instant. 

"  Roxie." 

He  spoke  sharply  —  incisively.  She  had  never 
heard  his  voice  like  that. 
Yes,  sir,"  she  answered. 
Put  on  your  hat  and  coat." 

"Whatfer?" 

"We're  going  now." 

"Goin'  now?  No,  sir,  I  ain't  goin'  now." 

"Don't  delay,"  he  ordered.  "And  don't  be 
foolish." 

She  braced  herself  —  holding  her  feet  a  little 
apart  as  though  steadying  for  a  blow. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  now.  I  ain't  goin'  no  time." 

Unconsciously  she  had  fallen  back  into  the 
vernacular  both  in  words  and  voice.  There  was  a 
drawling  softness  to  it  that  Allston  noticed.  It 
made  for  tenderness.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to 
maintain  his  rigid  sternness  in  the  face  of  it. 
Yet  that  was  the  only  safe  thing  to  do. 

He  seized  her  arm. 

"  Quick !  "  he  commanded. 

She  shook  herself  free  with  a  semblance  of  in- 


192  BIG  LAUREL 

dignation.  Most  women  are  born  actresses,  given 
the  occasion.  And  Roxie  had  the  occasion.  Her 
heart  and  soul  were  in  the  stand  she  was  taking. 
Certainly  the  stake  was  big  enough  —  his  life  and 
nothing  less.  She  was  playing  for  a  larger  salary 
than  most  real  actresses  receive. 

"  Don'  tech  me !  "  she  cried. 

His  brows  came  together. 

"Good  Lord  —  do  you  want  me  to  throw  you 
over  my  back? " 

"  Do  I  want  ye  ter  throw  me  over  your  back  ?  " 

Her  blue  eyes  flamed.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
cost  to  him,  that  is  just  what  she  would  have 
liked.  But  the  cost  to  him  was  what  made  it 
impossible. 

"  Damn  it,  I  '11  do  it  if  you  don't  come  now^'* 
he  threatened. 

(Out  in  the  hall  alone,  Bud  was  clawing,  claw- 
ing, clawing.  He  had  been  clawing  all  this  time. 
The  tips  of  his  fingers  were  bleeding,  but  the  rope 
was  fuzzing  deeper  and  deeper.  Every  now  and 
then  he  stopped  to  strain  at  it.  Gawd  A' mighty, 
if  he  should  get  free —  !) 

"  Put  on  your  hat  and  coat  or  I  '11  do  it  for 
you,"  insisted  Allston. 


BIG  LAUREL  193 

The  words  she  was  trying  to  utter  stuck  in  her 
throat.  This  acting  business  was  not  so  easy 
after  all.  Yet  she  found  her  voice  when  AUston 
almost  roughly  seized  her  arm  again.  The  touch 
of  him  gave  the  inspiration  she  needed. 

"  I  'm  goin'  ter  stay  hyar.  I  'm  goin'  ter  stay 
with  Bud,"  she  trembled. 

"You  what.?" 

"  I  come  hyar  with  Bud.  Ain't  I  got  a  right  .'^  " 

"But  zvhy  did  you  come.?  " 

"  I  come  because  I  wanted.  He  asked  me  ter 
marry  him  an'  I  said  I  would.  Ain't  I  got  a 
right?" 

"You  mean  you  love  him.?  " 

Here  was  a  direct  question.  It  demanded  a 
direct  answer.  She  turned  her  eyes  around  the 
shack  like  a  frightened  animal.  The  man  before 
her  followed  her  gaze.  She  could  not  get  away 
from  him.    So  finally  — 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  You  came  here  of  your  own  free  will .?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  the  note  you  wrote  was  simply  to  throw 
Miss  Wilmer  off  the  track.?  " 

"I  —  I  hed  ter  tell  her  somethin',"  she  pleaded. 


194  BIG  LAUREL 

"  Lord ! "  he  broke  out.  "  What  a  farce !  What 
a  farce!" 

She  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  his  words, 
but  she  saw  something  Hke  a  smile  below  his 
frown  and  she  did  not  like  that. 

"  If  folks  would  only  leave  other  folks  alone ! " 
she  cried. 

Allston  started. 

"There's  real  philosophy  in  that,"  he  nodded. 
"If  folks  would  only  leave  other  folks  alone! " 

(Bud  was  still  clawing,  clawing,  clawing.  It 
hurt.  It  hurt  like  the  devil  now.  He  writhed  un- 
der a  new  torture.  He  paused  for  breath  as  he 
heard  their  voices  in  long-continued  conversa- 
tion. They  gave  him  a  new  incentive.  He 
gathered  himself  together  and  throwing  into  the 
effort  every  ounce  of  his  strength  he  strained  once 
again  at  the  weakened  strands.) 

Allston  turned  from  the  girl  and  paced  the 
room  once  across  and  back.  The  story  she  had 
just  told  came  like  a  shock.  It  hurt,  in  a  way, 
his  pride.  It  was  a  blow  at  his  ideals.  If  at  first 
it  did  not  sound  plausible,  it  sounded  upon 
second  thought  more  plausible  than  the  original 
interpretation  he  had  given.  Natives,  after  all, 


BIG  LAUREL  195 

were  natives  in  whatever  part  of  the  country  they 
lived  and  however  good  to  look  upon  they  were. 
It  was  perfectly  normal  for  her  to  fall  in  love 
with  one  of  her  own.  And  this  man  Bud,  if 
no  better  than  most  of  his  fellows  hereabouts,  was 
not  much  worse  as  far  as  his  observation  of  the 
last  few  weeks  went.  He  was  a  little  more  auto- 
cratic and  domineering  than  some,  but  he  liked 
him  for  that.  Howe  had  spoken  of  him  as  "  bad," 
but  without  much  concrete  evidence  except  for 
the  story  that  he  had  once  killed  a  man.  To 
Allston  that  did  not  sound  as  significant  as  it 
might  have  done  a  few  years  back.  He  himself 
had  killed  his  man.  In  battle,  to  be  sure,  but  so 
was  Bud  probably  in  a  battle  of  his  own. 

Allston  came  back  to  his  original  position  be- 
fore Roxie.  It  was  as  though  she  had  grown  oldei 
in  the  last  few  minutes.  She  did  not  stand  as 
straight.  And  so  he  suddenly  saw  her  as  fitting 
almost  perfectly  into  these  surroundings. 

"So  that  is  it,  Roxie,'*  he  said  more  gently. 
"You  came  because  you  wanted  to  come.  And 
you  're  here  because  you  want  to  be  here.  But  — 
you  are  n't  married  yet  ^  " 

The  girl  trembled  at  that. 


196  BIG  LAUREL 

"No,  sir.  I  ain't  married  yet.  But  Bud  —  he 
said  to-morrer  he'd  marry  me." 

"And  you  believe  him?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  beheve  him.  Oh  —  I  gotter  believe 
him." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  have  waited  until  to-mor- 
row." 

"  But  I  did  n'." 

"You  were  afraid  Miss  Wilmer  might  object?  " 

"Yes,  I  was  'fraid  o'  Miss  Wilmer." 

"I  think  most  likely  she  would  have  objected. 
And  yet  if  you  love  the  man — " 

Why  did  she  cringe  at  that? 

"And  yet  if  you  love  him  —  why,  there  isn't 
any  answer.   Love  is  seldom  —  intelligent." 

"  I  dunno,"  she  answered  vaguely. 

She  wished  that  he  would  not  talk  any  more. 
She  wished  that  he  would  go.  Every  second  he 
remained  was  making  it  more  difficult  for  her. 

"You  know  the  man  and  what  they  say  of 
him? "  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"And  of  course  you  believe  he  loves  you  or 
you  wouldn't  have  come.  And  that  is  the  impor- 
tant thing ;  if  he  loves  you,  little  girl.  You  '11  have 


BIG  LAUREL  197 

him  at  your  mercy  —  if  he  loves  you  as  he  ought 
to  love  you." 

In  her  bewildered  brain  that  suggestion  of  his 
seemed  to  fasten.  It  was  being  loved,  he  said,  not 
loving  that  was  important.  "  You  w^ill  have  him 
at  your  mercy,"  ran  his  phrase.  If  only  that 
proved  true,  then  Allston  w^as  safe. 

"Why  don't  ye  go  now\f* "  she  questioned. 

Suddenly  the  lamp  flickered.  The  flame  flared 
up,  then  down,  then  up  again,  smoking  the  chim- 
ney as  a  gust  of  wind  swept  dow^n  the  hall  and 
into  the  room.  Allston's  hand  flew  back  to  his 
automatic.  Clutching  it  he  ran  out  into  the 
empty  hall.  At  the  same  moment  Roxie  ran  to 
the  table  and  extinguished  the  light. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Bud  had  escaped.  That  was  the  meaning  of  the 
flickering  lamp.  And  Roxie  understood  well  the 
danger  to  Allston  of  standing  exposed,  after  this, 
in  a  lighted  room.  Bud's  gun  was  here,  to  be  sure, 
but  he  might  have  another  hidden  about  the 
place  —  in  the  barn  or  the  spring-house. 

Allston  had  run  into  the  hall  and,  finding  his 
man  gone,  had  promptly  closed  and  locked  the 
door  through  which  he  had  escaped.  The  prob- 
lem no  longer  was  to  keep  Bud  in,  but  to  keep 
him  out.  Cursing  his  stupidity  in  not  having 
maintained  a  closer  watch,  he  struck  a  match  in 
order  to  search  both  side  rooms.  Roxie,  running 
to  his  side,  warned  him  of  the  danger. 

"He'll  shoot  through  the  winder!"  she  cried. 

This  was  a  chance  he  had  to  take.  Remember- 
ing his  own  ruse  which  had  gained  him  admis- 
sion in  the  first  place,  he  did  not  care  to  see  it 
repeated  by  another.  He  found  both  rooms 
empty.  Bud  had  sought  the  open  where  he  would 
be  able  to  secure  another  gun  and  ammunition. 

It  was  uncanny  how  in  the  space  of  less  than  a 


BIG  LAUREL  199 

minute  the  whole  situation  had  changed  for  all 
three  of  them.  Roxie  was  quicker  to  realize  this 
fact  than  Allston.  She  was  quicker  because  for 
her  the  change  meant  more.  Bud  was  now  com- 
pletely out  of  her  power.  As  long  as  he  had  lain 
there  in  the  hall,  she  was  still  in  control  of 
him.  She  had  within  herself  the  tribute  price  for 
Allston's  ransom.  But  with  Bud  gone  this  op- 
portunity had  been  snatched  away  from  her.  She 
was  left  quite  helpless  —  pitifully  helpless. 

And  yet  for  a  moment  she  felt  as  though  sud- 
denly soaring  into  the  clouds  like  a  released  bird. 
If  she  had  lost  her  power  over  Bud,  he  in  turn  had 
lost  his  power  over  her.  For  her  this  meant,  for 
the  time  being,  freedom  —  a  wild,  unnatural  sort 
of  freedom.  She  was  a  prisoner  here  with  the  man 
she  loved.  Their  interests  now,  instead  of  being 
opposed,  were  mutual.  Bud  was  against  them 
both.  And  there  was  nothing  she  could  do  to 
prevent  this ;  nothing  Allston  could  do  —  until 
morning,  anyway.  They  were  as  isolated  as  on  a 
desert  island. 

Allston  himself  did  not  see  this,  at  first,  quite 
as  clearly.  He  was  for  immediate  action. 

"  We  must  get  out  of  here  quick ! "  he  snapped. 


200  BIG  LAUREL 

"  But  we  can't,"  she  broke  in  eagerly.  "He  — 
he  '11  kill  us  both.  Bud  '11  kill  us  both." 

"  You  forget  I  've  got  his  gun." 

"You've  gut  one  gun." 

"  It 's  the  only  one  he  had." 

"  In  his  pocket.  But  outside  he  mought  have 
others,  an'  long's  ye  don'  know,  it's  jest  as  bad." 

"  But  when  you  don't  know  you  always  have  a 
chance." 

"If  he  ain't  gut  a  gun,  he's  gut  sticks  and 
stones.  He  'd  kill  with  somethin'  afore  yuh  could 
git  through  the  door." 

"There  are  two  doors.  He  can't  watch  them 
both." 

"  Only  yuh  can't  tell  which.  An'  after  what 
yuh  done  ter  him  —  Oh,  you  don'  know  Bud  like 
I  do." 

"I  know  he's  killing  mad,"  admitted  Allston. 

And  yet,  had  it  not  been  for  Roxie,  he  would 
have  taken  his  chance  and  made  a  dash  for  it. 
Once  through  the  door  it  would  be  a  fair  fight. 
It  maddened  him  —  even  as  it  had  maddened 
Bud  —  to  be  held  in  check  like  this.  He  began 
to  pace  the  room  —  keeping  out  of  range  of  the 
glow  from  the  dying  fire. 


BIG  LAUREL  cioi 

Then  a  new  thought  flashed  into  his  mind.  If 
what  this  girl  had  told  him  was  true  —  if  she 
were  really  in  love  with  Bud  —  then  there  would 
be  no  harm  in  leaving  her  here. 

She  w^as  standing  in  the  shadows  over  by  the 
table.  He  strode  to  her  side  and  she  crowded 
close  to  him.  She  acted  afraid,  and  that  under 
the  circumstances  was  not  natural.  She  ought 
to  be  glad  that  her  lover  had  escaped.  And  it 
made  his  own  course  obvious  and  simple.  If  he 
went  out,  Bud  would  come  in  and  this  would  end 
the  whole  affair.  A  moment  ago  Roxie  had  re- 
fused absolutely  to  return  with  him.  If  that  was 
her  position  before  Bud  escaped,  it  was  still  her 
position.  Had  he  gone  away  and  left  her  to  free 
Bud  —  and  he  had  seen  no  alternative  —  she 
would  have  been  exactly  where  she  would  be  if 
he  went  now.  Bud  had  only  forced  by  a  few 
minutes  the  inevitable. 

With  only  himself  to  consider,  then,  Allston 
did  not  propose  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  night  up 
here.  It  was  both  humiliating  and  unnecessary. 
It  might  easily  turn  out  to  be  something  worse. 
If  he  were  not  back  at  the  Howe  bungalow  by 
morning,  the  house  would  be  in  a  turmoil.  With 


202  BIG  LAUREL 

Roxie  gone,  too,  his  absence  might  be  misinter- 
preted. 

Here  was  a  fair  argument,  and  yet  he  was  not 
altogether  convinced  that  it  would  hold.  It  did 
not  explain  fully  Roxie's  present  attitude.  Well, 
then  his  suggestion  might  force  that  explanation. 

"  Roxie,"  he  said  quietly,  "  a  moment  ago  you 
told  me  you  came  here  because  you  wished  to 


come." 


« 


Yes,  sir,"  she  admitted  with  a  start. 

"You  said  you  were  going  to  stay." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  'lowed  I  was  goin'  ter  stay  with 
Bud." 

"  Did  you  mean  that.? " 

Her  senses  were  acute.  She  felt  he  was  leading 
her  into  some  sort  of  trap.  She  did  not  answer. 
Frantically  she  tried  to  guess  the  meaning  of  it. 

"Were  you  telling  the  truth.?  "  he  demanded. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered  because  she  was 
forced  to  answer. 

"It's  hard  to  believe  —  somehow,"  he  said. 
"  And  yet  I  don't  know  why  it  should  be.  In  time 
you  were  bound  to  marry,  if  not  with  Bud  —  then 
with  some  other  Bud.  Perhaps  I  've  been  think- 
ing of  you  as  younger  than  you  are.' 


» 


a  >1 


BIG  LAUREL  203 

"  I  'm  eighteen,"  she  replied  as  a  statement  of 
fact. 

"  And  that 's  young  or  old  according  as  you  've 
lived.  I  saw  men  of  eighteen  in  France  who  were 
fifty." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"There   are  moments  when  you  seem  older 
than  that  and  moments  when  you  seem  younger. 
That 's  the  trouble.  What  are  you  now  ?  " 
I  'm  eighteen." 

And  you  're  sure  you  know  your  own  mind  ?  " 
'Bout  how  I   come  to  come  up   hyar  with 
Bud?"  she  asked  suspiciously. 
"Yes." 
Yes,  sir,  I  know  my  own  mind  'bout  thet." 
And  about  staying  ^  " 

Yes,  sir,  I  know  my  own  mind  'bout  stayin'. 
We  —  we  gotter  stay  till  mornin'  now." 
"  We .?  "  he  frowned. 
"Bud,  he  —  he'll  kill  us  certain." 
He  spoke  more  sharply.    He  was  only  going 
around  in  a  circle  and  he  was  tired  of  circles. 

"Listen,  Roxie,"  he  said.  "What  you've  told 
me  about  Bud  changes  ever5^hing.  It's  evident 
enough  now  that  I  butted  in  where  I  don't  be- 


et 


ao4  BIG  LAUREL 

long.  If  Bud  loves  you,  and  you  love  him,  you  're 
safe  enough  here,  and  the  quicker  I  get  out  the 
Setter.  What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  make  what  in 
the  army  we  called  a  diversion.  You  stand  out  of 
danger  and  swing  open  the  back  door  and  I'll 
cut  out  the  front.  Bud  ought  to  be  glad  enough 
to  see  you  to  forgive  your  part  in  it." 

The  girl  cowered  away.  She  did  not  speak. 
The  silence  became  tense. 

"That's  all  there  is  to  it,"  he  went  on. 
"  You  're  game  ?  " 

Slowly  the  full  irony  of  her  fate  made  itself 
manifest  to  her.  She  did  not  know  it  as  irony. 
It  seemed  to  her  more  like  some  cruelly  right- 
eous form  of  retributive  justice.  The  lie  she  had 
told  to  save  the  man  she  loved  had  been  turned 
against  her  to  threaten  his  life.  She  had  lied  to 
drive  him  out  of  this  house  away  from  Bud 
Childers  and  this  same  lie  was  still  working  to 
drive  him  out  —  but  this  time  into  the  clutch  of 
Bud.  She  did  not  believe  for  a  moment  that  he 
had  a  chance  to  escape  as  he  proposed.  He  did 
not  know  Bud.  Even  if  he  got  through  the  door, 
he  would  not  be  allowed  a  hundred  yards  down 
the  road.   If  he  took  to  the  woods,  he  would  be 


BIG  LAUREL  205 

a  stranger  there  against  Bud  who  knew  every 
foot  even  by  night.  Bud  would  make  sure  and  she 
could  not  stop  him.  The  one  and  only  chance  she 
had  of  protecting  Allston  now  was  to  keep  him 
here  until  he  was  missed  at  home  —  until  Miss 
Wilmer  and  Mr.  Howe  roused  the  village  and  sent 
out  help  to  him. 

She  had  lost  her  power  over  Bud  by  staying 
without  a  struggle  with  Allston.  Her  one  op- 
portunity for  regaining  her  influence  had  been 
to  send  Allston  away  and  release  Bud  with  her 
own  hands.  That  would  have  meant  something 
to  the  man ;  it  would  have  been  a  tangible  proof 
of  her  friendliness  that  he  could  have  understood. 
To  bring  about  this  opportunity  she  had  deliber- 
ately sacrificed  whatever  good  opinion  of  her  All- 
ston may  have  had.  And  now  Bud,  by  escaping, 
had  spoiled  all  those  plans  just  as  Allston,  by 
coming,  had  spoiled  all  her  other  plans. 

It  was  pitiful.  She  was  stripped  of  her  last 
vestige  of  influence  over  either  man.  And  this  at 
a  time  when  she  needed  it  most;  when  she  had 
made  each  an  even  greater  menace  to  the  other. 

That  was  because  she  had  lied.  It  was  wrong 
to  lie.  God  hated  a  liar.  His  punishment  was  ter- 


206  BIG  LAUREL 

rible  and  swift.  She  saw  that  now  as  vividly  as 
though  it  were  expressed  in  some  flaming  sign  in 
the  sky. 

Trembling  the  girl  clasped  her  two  hands.  She 
wanted  to  get  down  on  her  weak  knees  and  pray 
for  forgiveness. 

"  Why  don't  you  answer,  Roxie  ^ "  Allston 
questioned  sharply. 

She  did  not  answer  because  she  felt  as  help- 
less as  a  mere  onlooker;  because  she  could  no 
more  think  of  what  to  say  or  do  than  a  baby  in 
arms  before  some  awful  catastrophe  about  to  en- 
velop her.  She  found  herself  repeating  silently 
that  little  prayer  which  had  been  once  before  her 
last  refuge  this  fearful  night.  The  second  line 
she  said  over  and  over  again : 

"  I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take.  I  pray  the 
Lord  my  soul  to  take." 

That  other  time  the  steel-bladed  knife  which 
she  had  brought  to  the  shack  as  protection 
against  Bud  was  the  answer  to  her  prayer.  And 
now  the  prayer  —  or  a  certain  temporary  poise 
resulting  from  reliance  on  it  —  furnished  her 
with  another  solution.  In  reality  this  answer 
sounded  more  like  the  voice  of  God  than  had  the 


BIG  LAUREL  207 

other.  If  the  suggestion  was  daring,  It  was  the 
sort  of  daring  of  which  the  Lord  might  be  sup- 
posed to  approve.  And  it  was  both  simple  and 
logical  like  most  of  the  acts  of  God. 

Swiftly  Roxle  looked  up  and  met  Allston's 
blue  eyes.  She  could  not  in  the  shadows  see  much 
of  them,  but  she  felt  them.  They  were  steady  and 
honest  —  of  that  she  was  sure.  They  were  the 
sort  of  eyes  that  made  it  easier  to  tell  the  truth 
than  to  He.  And  that  was  what  the  still,  small 
voice  advised.  If  she  were  being  punished  now  for 
not  having  been  honest,  the  only  way  she  could 
redeem  herself  was  from  this  moment  on  to  tell 
the  truth.  God  might  not  forgive  altogether  her 
first  offense,  but  if  the  truth  did  not  expiate  it 
nothing  would.  No  matter  at  what  cost  to  her 
pride,  to  her  instincts  as  a  maiden,  she  must  tell 
the  truth. 

"  Speak,"  he  commanded. 

So  she  spoke  —  her  lips  quivering. 

"It  —  It  ain't  Bud  I  love,  it's  —  it's  you,"  she 
stammered. 

"What.?"  he  cried. 

"It's  you,"  she  stumbled  on.  "Oh,  It's  allers 
been  you.  I  could n'  help  It.  I'm  sorry." 


2o8  BIG  LAUREL 

Queer,  feeble,  jerky  little  sentences  these 
through  which  to  express  as  deep  an  emotion  as 
that  now  shaking  her  —  racking  her.  But  they 
were  the  best  she  could  do. 

And  feeble  though  they  were,  they  struck  home 
to  Allston  like  knife-thrusts.  He  felt  weak  after 
them.  For  he  believed — at  least  that  she  be- 
lieved. This  explained  a  do^en  facts  that  had 
been  vague ;  a  dozen  facts  that  he  had  allowed  to 
remain  vague  even  when  they  aroused  his  sus- 
picions, because  he  in  his  turn  had  refused  to 
face  the  truth.  It  was  clear  to  him  now  why  she 
had  come  here;  it  was  because  of  this  love,  to 
save  him.  No  other  explanation  was  big  enough 
to  make  plausible  her  willingness  to  risk  her 
honor  on  this  night  alone  with  Bud.  And  all  the 
incidents  that  followed  fitted  in  accurately  and 
convincingly. 

Not  for  a  second  did  Allston  doubt  her  sin- 
cerity. And  his  big  heart  flamed  up  in  response 
to  the  nobleness  and  heroism  and  idealism  of  the 
act  —  foolish  as  it  was  and  as  unworthy  of  it  as 
he  knew  himself  to  be. 

"God!"  he  breathed.  "What  a  wonderful 
woman  you  are !  " 


BIG  LAUREL  209 

"I  could n'  help  it,"  she  moaned.  "Bud  — 
he  said  he  'd  kill  yuh  an'  he  'd  'a'  done  it  too.  An' 
I  thought—" 

She  looked  so  abject,  so  pitiful,  so  alone  in  her 
misery  that  Allston  could  no  more  refrain  from 
what  he  did  next  than  he  could  have  refrained 
from  picking  up  an  outcast  kitten  mewing  in  the 
cold.  He  stepped  nearer  and  gathered  her  into  his 
arms.  She  came  unresisting  —  weak  from  the 
continued  tension  of  these  last  hours.  She  buried 
her' face  on  his  shoulder,  trying  hard  at  first  to 
stifle  her  sobs,  but  finally  letting  herself  go  com- 
pletely. 

Allston  held  her  tenderly  and  in  silence.  That 
seemed  to  be  the  only  thing  to  do.  Words  were 
quite  useless;  reason,  unavailing.  Whether  she 
was  right  or  wrong  or  he  right  or  wrong  was  not, 
in  such  a  crisis,  important.  This  was  some  iso- 
lated moment  to  be  handled  by  itself. 

If  he  could  not  respond  with  the  deep  emotion 
that  stirred  her,  he  felt  his  cheeks  burning  in  an- 
swer to  the  clinging  appeal  of  her  warm  arms,  to 
the  clean  incense  of  her  hair,  to  the  feverish  eager- 
ness of  her  rapid  breathing.  He  would  have  been 
either  less  or  more  than  man  had  he  remained 


aio  BIG  LAUREL 

insensible.    Lightly  he  brushed  her  flaxen  hair 
with  his  Hps. 

He  felt  as  though  he  had  been  swept  back  a 
hundred  years  —  a  thousand,  for  all  he  knew; 
back  to  some  time  when  the  world  was  made  up 
of  nothing  but  stars  and  trees  and  men  and 
women.  This  mountain  shack  of  hewn  logs  might 
have  been  his  own.  And  all  he  saw  and  all  he 
knew  was  what  it  contained  and  what  the  forest 
roundabout  contained.  The  rest  of  the  world 
counted  for  no  more  than  it  did  before  the  days 
of  maps.  Life  must  be  lived  and  its  problems,  as 
far  as  they  concerned  him,  settled  right  here. 

Unconsciously  his  arms  tightened  about  her 
lithe  young  body.  In  response  she  raised  her 
flushed  face  a  little  —  shyly,  but  with  new  con- 
fidence. 

"You  won't  go  —  now?  "  she  whispered. 

Her  words  startled  him  back  to  the  present. 
His  arms  fell  to  his  side. 

"  Now  I  ought  to  go ! "  he  cried. 

A  shattered  pane  of  glass  followed  the  report  of 
a  gun.  Some  one  outside  was  beginning  to  probe 
the  shadows. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Bud,  after  making  his  escape,  ran  down  the 
mountain  road  to  the  home  of  Roge  Carver, 
where  he  borrowed  a  rifle  and  ammunition.  Roge 
loaned  both  without  either  question  or  comment, 
although  later  he  admitted  to  his  neighbors  that 
it  did  occur  to  him  that  the  incident  was  more  or 
less  unusual.  It  was  not  easy  to  understand  how 
Bud  happened  to  be  without  a  gun  of  his  own 
when  within  so  short  a  distance  of  his  shack,  or 
why  he  needed  one,  anyway,  on  a  stormy  night 
at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"He  was  all  riled  up,"  explained  Roge.  "So  I 
did  n'  hold  no  talk  with  'um." 

No  one  disputed  that  as  an  unwise  decision. 
When  a  man  like  Bud  goes  gunning  in  the  dead 
of  night,  he  is  best  left  alone.  The  explanation 
Roge  offered  his  wife  when  he  returned  to  bed 
seemed  fairly  reasonable. 

"Mebbe  one  o'  them  Enfield  boys  is  prowlin' 
round." 

On  the  whole,  however,  it  made  little  difference 
to  his  neighbors  what  Bud  was  about  as  long  as 


212  BIG  LAUREL 

they  were  not  immediately  involved.  That  a  man 
out  there  alone  on  the  mountain-side,  in  Stygian 
darkness,  was  battling  with  all  the  devils  of  Hell 
did  not  interest  them.  Bruised  and  sore  from 
head  to  foot,  with  the  tips  of  his  raw  fingers  quiv- 
ering. Bud  could  fight  it  out  and  welcome  as  long 
as  he  kept  to  himself.  It  even  made  little  differ- 
ence whether  he  lost  or  won. 

As  he  staggered  up  the  rocky  road,  he  would 
have  been  the  first  to  admit  the  truth  of  this. 
This  was  his  fight  now — his  alone.  He  could 
depend  upon  neither  God,  man,  nor  the  Devil 
for  assistance.  He  was  against  the  universe  and 
the  universe  against  him.  Even  the  mountain 
wind  bred  in  his  own  mountain  trees  had  played 
him  false.  It  had  lured  him  into  danger  at  the 
door.  It  was  trying  to  press  him  back  even  now 
and  whipping  his  black  hair  into  his  eyes.  In 
desperate  rage  he  cursed  it  as  he  stumbled  on. 

No  matter  how  small  the  man,  there  is  some- 
thing Homeric  about  his  struggles  when  he  comes 
to  grips  with  elemental  forces.  Whether  king  or 
common  slave,  a  man  who  swayed  by  big  pas- 
sions does  his  best  against  odds  acquires  a  cer- 
tain majesty.  Men  respect  even  rats  who  fight 
hard  for  life. 


BIG  LAUREL  213 

If  Bud  had  been  dominated  at  the  moment  of 
his  escape  by  nothing  but  black  revenge,  this, 
before  he  returned  to  the  shack,  had  changed 
into  something  else,  no  less  intense,  but  on  the 
whole  worthier.  His  objective  remained  still  the 
same  —  the  death  of  Allston.  But  while  he  lay 
bound  upon  the  floor  suffering  acute  physical 
pain,  he  had  looked  forward  to  this  as  a  matter 
solely  of  personal  satisfaction.  It  was  man  to 
man  then,  with  Roxie  stimulating  the  enmity, 
but  she  herself  almost  wholly  eliminated  from 
the  final  issue.  Once  Bud  was  free  and,  rifle  in 
hand,  within  sight  of  his  own  door  again,  the  girl 
assumed  to  him  her  old  importance.  Because,  as 
he  realized  now,  with  Allston  dead,  she  would  be 
left  more  than  ever  his.  The  first  time  he  had 
secured  no  more  than  temporary  possession ;  this 
time  possession  would  be  permanent. 

So  after  all  he  did  not  stand  altogether  alone 
against  the  universe.  With  Roxie  still  alive  that 
was  not  possible.  God,  man,  and  the  Devil  — 
they  could  all  be  against  him,  but  as  long  as  he 
kept  within  striking  distance  of  this  girl  he  could 
still  hope.  In  a  way  she  was  nearer  him  at  this 
moment  than  she  had  ever  been  before.  He  had 


214  BIG  LAUREL 

until  now  been  under  certain  restraints.  She  had 
forced  upon  him  a  compromise.  For  her  sake  he 
had  twice  spared  Allston.  She  could  not  expect 
that  again  of  him.  The  issue  now  was  clean-cut 
and  that  suited  him  better. 

Within  a  hundred  yards  of  his  shack,  Bud 
paused.  The  windows  were  dark — a  fact  that 
made  him  smile  grimly.  It  indicated  that  the 
two  were  still  within  or  they  would  not  have 
taken  this  precaution.  And  that  they  were  still 
inside  was  all  he  asked.  It  meant  that  they  must 
come  out  —  in  one  hour,  two  hours,  ten  hours, 
twenty  hours.  It  did  not  much  matter  when. 
They  must  come  out  of  one  of  two  doors. 

Bud  took  up  a  position  by  the  spring-house  to 
the  left.  From  that  angle  he  commanded  either 
door.  With  rifle  cocked  he  sat  down  to  wait. 

But  waiting  was  a  more  difficult  business  than 
he  anticipated.  That  was  because  his  thoughts 
refused  to  stand  still.  And  yet  often  enough  he 
had  sat  on  a  rock  for  hours  at  a  time  waiting  for 
a  buck  to  pass  down  a  mountain  trail — waited 
stolidly  and  indifferently  for  his  quarry.  He  had 
not  then  been  worried  by  thought.  He  had  been 
patient  enough.  This  was  all  that  was  necessary 
now. 


BIG  LAUREL  215 

If  Allston  had  only  been  in  there  alone,  Bud 
could  have  sat  where  he  was  a  week,  indifferent 
to  sleep,  indifferent  to  hunger,  indifferent  to  the 
weather.  Each  passing  hour  then  would  only 
have  heightened  his  expectancy.  But  Roxie  was 
there  too. 

He  wondered  what  the  two  were  doing.  There 
were  moments  when  he  thought  he  caught  the 
sound  of  their  muffled  voices  —  as  he  had  caught 
them  when  he  lay  prone  and  bound  on  the  floor. 
Then  the  moisture  started  to  his  forehead  and 
his  arm  muscles  twitched  and  the  tips  of  his  raw 
fingers  began  to  quiver.  He  was  tempted  then  to 
beat  down  one  of  those  silent,  blank  doors  and 
force  his  way  in. 

Only  he  knew  better.  He  would  be  shot  in  his 
tracks  —  through  the  panels  most  likely.  He  did 
not  underestimate  his  man  —  pink-cheeked,  lily- 
fingered  though  he  might  be.  Lily  fingers  could 
pull  a  gun  trigger  quite  as  easily  as  any  other 
kind.  Furthermore,  he  had  had  evidence  that 
Allston  could  shoot  straight.  He  did  not  like  to 
remember  the  night  of  their  first  meeting  when 
this  stranger  had  shot  the  gun  out  of  his  hands. 
Yet  it  was  one  of  the  things  he  could  not  forget. 


2i6  BIG  LAUREL 

He  must  wait  —  but  what  were  they  doing  in 
there?  Holding  hands,  perhaps.  Gawd  A' mighty! 
And  he  sitting  out  here  in  the  dark  —  sitting  out- 
side his  own  home! 

It  was  curious,  but  from  the  first  Bud  had 
never  considered  as  a  possibility  the  fact  that 
Roxie  might  really  care  for  this  stranger.  His 
mind  could  no  more  conceive  this  than  that  she 
should  not  in  the  end  care  for  himself.  Allston 
was  fooling  her,  that  was  all,  and  she  was  being 
fooled.  One  of  the  traditional  old  wives'  tales 
hereabouts  was  of  a  country  girl  ruined  by  a  city 
chap.  Bud  had  heard  it  since  a  boy.  He  knew 
of  other  cases,  too,  where  the  villain  had  not  been 
a  city  chap ;  but  those  stories,  though  based  on 
sounder  evidence,  were  not  as  dramatic.  They 
were,  perhaps  because  of  this  evidence,  dis- 
tinctly commonplace. 

Whatever  Roxie's  relations  with  Allston  were, 
then,  they  were  only  temporary.  And  she  was  not 
at  fault.  She  did  not  know  men.  It  was  the  old 
story  of  the  summerer  and  his  fine  clothes,  except 
that  Roxie  would  never  be  fooled  too  far.  Bud 
knew  that.  He  had  known  it  before,  but  the  early 
part  of  this  evening  the  girl  had  proven  it.  The 


BIG  LAUREL  217 

little  wildcat  had  taken  a  kmfe  out  of  her  bosom 
and  started  for  him.  And  he  —  well,  he  was 
almost  tempted  to  risk  one  cut  for  a  kiss.  Her 
eyes  had  stopped  him.  They  had  warned  that  the 
cut  would  be  deep. 

Now  she  was  in  there  with  Allston.  That  was 
what  made  it  hard  to  wait.  It  was  this  which 
moved  him  from  his  position  once  and  urged 
him  to  one  of  those  front  windows.  Cautiously 
he  peered  in.  He  could  see  only  the  dying  fire 
lighting  dimly  the  hearthstones.  But  this  sight 
maddened  him.  It  was  cold  outside,  and  here  he 
was  barred  from  his  ow^n  fire.  To  the  right  was  a 
black  shadow.  Upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment 
he  raised  his  rifle  and  fired  into  it.  Then  he 
moved  back  swiftly  to  his  point  of  vantage  by  the 
spring-house. 

Nothing  followed.  The  shadow  evidently  was 
only  a  shadow.  It  was  expecting  too  much  to 
hope  it  was  anything  else.  Roxie  was  no  fool. 
She  would  see  to  it  that  Allston  kept  out  of  range. 
For  that  matter  Allston  himself  was  no  fool. 

Bud  made  up  his  mind  that  he  could  look  for- 
ward to  little  action  until  morning,  and  the  only 
consolation  he  could  get  out  of  that  was  that 


21 8  BIG  LAUREL 

daylight  would  increase  his  chances.  Daylight 
would  make  the  result  certain.  In  the  dark  a 
man,  no  matter  how  good  a  shot,  might  shoot 
wild.  Once  the  sun  was  up  Bud  knew  that  not 
even  a  rat  could  move  ten  inches  from  either 
doorsill. 

With  his  rifle  across  his  arm  he  sat  down,  his 
thin  lips  drawn  taut,  his  blue  eyes  as  hard  and 
cold  as  steel. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Allston  did  not  minimize  the  danger  of  his  sit- 
uation. He  knew  that  the  odds  were  against  him 
and  that  those  odds  increased  with  every  passing 
hour.  After  dawn  his  chances  of  getting  out  alive 
would  be  ten  to  one  against  him.  But  his  only 
alternative  was  to  make  a  dash  for  it  with  Roxie, 
and  that  would  be  to  risk  her  life  as  well  as  his 
own.  Bud  would  shoot  at  anything  that  moved 
from  either  door.  He  must  wait  until  Bud  could 
distinguish  clearly  between  them. 

Allston  accepted  his  lot  like  a  gentleman.  He 
even  appreciated  the  grim  irony  of  his  plight  — 
the  sardonic  humor  of  it.  He  had  come  up  here 
to  save  Roxie  and  had  succeeded  in  doing  noth- 
ing but  endanger  her;  she  in  her  turn  had  come 
here  to  save  him  and  had  only  placed  his  life  in 
jeopardy.  Both  had  been  actuated  by  the  highest 
motives,  but  these  had  worked  only  for  their 
doom. 

There  was  something  wrong  about  that. 
Though  helpless,  Allston  was  by  no  means  re- 
signed to  any  such  outcome;  neither  for  Roxie 


220  BIG  LAUREL 

nor  for  himself.  There  was  too  much  good  in 
this  girl  to  have  any  misfortune  come  to  her.  As 
for  himself,  life  had  never  seemed  sweeter.  He 
did  not  mean  to  let  go  of  it  without  a  struggle. 

Yet,  too,  life  had  never  been  more  confused. 
Roxie  clung  to  him  now  like  a  child  in  alarm. 
After  her  confession,  she  abandoned  herself  ut- 
terly to  her  emotions  —  quite  trustfully,  without 
a  trace  either  of  fear  or  reserve.  Yet  she  did  not 
seem  bold.  Her  sincerity  saved  her  from  that. 

They  had  retreated  into  the  far  corner  to  the 
left  of  the  fireplace,  out  of  range  of  any  window, 
and  here  they  sat  down  upon  the  floor.  This 
child-woman  snuggled  up  to  him  kitten-wise, 
her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  And  he  placed  his 
arm  about  her,  knowing  her  as  half  child  and 
half  woman;  more  child  than  most  children, 
more  woman  than  most  women. 

So,  a  thousand  years  ago,  he  might  have  sat  in 
some  cave  guarding  his  woman  against  the  en- 
trance of  wild  beasts.  Inhaling  the  incense  of  her 
hair,  feeling  the  quick  beating  of  her  heart, 
conscious  of  the  love  which  had  already  sacri- 
ficed so  much  for  him,  which  was  ready  to  sacri- 
fice so  much  more,  it  was  difficult  to  drag  him- 


BIG  LAUREL  221 

self  back  to  the  present;  difficult  to  see  straight. 

Yet  that  is  what  he  must  do  —  whether  he 
lived  on  or  not.  To  see  straight  while  he  did  live 
was  more  important  than  living  on.  And  in  this 
crisis  the  calm,  steady  brown  eyes  of  Wilmer 
Howe  came  to  help  him. 

He  had  not  forgotten  her.  Something  of  her 
presence  had  been  with  him  all  the  evening.  He 
had  felt  it  again  and  again,  though  in  the  turmoil 
of  vivid  details  which  follow^ed  so  swiftly  one 
after  another  he  had  not  always  visualized  her. 
And  it  had  not  been  easy  either  to  tell  just  what 
part  she  w^as  playing  in  this  isolated  drama  up 
in  these  black  hills.  Their  relations  had  been  so 
purely  intellectual  that  it  was  difficult  to  fit  her 
into  action  so  largely  physical  —  the  clash  of 
body  against  body  rather  than  mind  against 
mind. 

But  now,  it  seemed  almost  as  though  she  were 
standing  before  him,  a  silent  onlooker.  The  sug- 
gestion was  startling  enough  at  first.  It  sent  the 
blood  to  his  cheeks.  And  then  he  found  himself 
meeting  her  imagined  gaze  quite  coolly.  There 
was  nothing  here  of  which  he  need  feel  ashamed 
even  before  her. 


222  BIG  LAUREL 

It  was  very  quiet  inside  the  shack.  Outside  the 
wind  was  still  reeling  in  and  out  among  the  trees 
boisterously  as  a  drunken  sailor,  but  distinctly  it 
was  outside.  The  doors  were  safely  barred.  The 
gale  scarcely  stirred  the  dark  within  save  when  oc- 
casionally it  puffed  down  the  chimney  and  revived 
into  a  glow  the  dying  embers.  And  the  girl  in 
his  arms  lay  very  still  like  one  not  daring  to  move 
for  fear  of  breaking  a  spell. 

It  was  only  a  few  hours  ago  that  Allston  had 
left  Wilmer,  but  he  felt  as  though  days  must  have 
passed.  Yet  less  than  five  hours  before,  she  had 
lighted  her  candle  and  excusing  herself  had  gone 
upstairs  to  her  room.  He  had  watched  her  pretty 
feet  as  they  twinkled  out  of  sight.  A  half-hour 
later,  he  had  no  doubt,  she  was  sound  asleep. 

Perhaps,  in  her  dreams,  she  had  followed  him 
up  here;  perhaps,  in  her  dreams,  she  was  now 
looking  to  see  what  he  was  about.  The  continued 
silence  began  to  rouse  his  imagination.  It  did 
so  even  in  the  face  of  the  startling  reality  he  was 
still  confronting.  With  Roxie's  heart  beating 
against  his  arm,  it  was  not  of  her  he  thought,  but 
of  this  other. 

If  Allston  had  been  timid  in  his  mental  ap- 


BIG  LAUREL  223 

proach  to  Wilmer  before,  he  was  bold  enough 
now.  With  a  possible  margin  of  only  five  hours 
of  life  ahead,  a  man  must  needs  be  bold  if  ever. 
True  values  assert  themselves  willy-nilly  in  such 
a  crisis. 

He  had  realized  from  the  moment  of  Bud's  es- 
cape that  never  had  the  desire  to  live  been  so  keen 
in  him,  and  in  the  next  few  hours  he  learned 
why.  In  France  he  had  faced  death  even  more 
intimately  than  he  was  doing  to-night  and  had 
done  it  with  a  certain  indifference.  Not  that  he 
was  either  dulled  or  depressed;  not  that  he  was 
insensitive  to  what  life  meant  or  that  he  sought 
escape  from  its  responsibilities.  He  was  then  in 
an  utterly  negative  state  with  the  issue  com- 
pletely out  of  his  hands.  And  he  had  seen  so 
much  of  death  that  it  had  lost  its  horror.  About 
the  only  distinction  he  made  between  live  men 
and  dead  men  was  that  the  former  were  still  able 
to  move.  The  latter  lay  quietly  where  they 
crumpled  up  —  sometimes  for  days.  He  had 
passed  groups  of  such  immobile  forms  as  unemo- 
tionally as  he  passed  broken  tree  branches. 

On  his  mission  up  here  to-night,  he  had  not 
considered  death  either  one  way  or  the  other, 


224  BIG  LAUREL 

although  he  had  sensed  his  danger.  Roxie  herself 
was  the  one  who  finally  brought  him  face  to  face 
with  a  full  realization  of  the  issue.  It  was  she 
who  had  finally  forced  the  fatal  situation.  And 
she  had  done  this,  unwittingly  and  unconsciously, 
in  the  name  of  love.  Humbly  and  out  of  a  full 
heart  he  drew  his  arm  tighter,  and  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  looked  up  into  his  face  and  smiled. 

Lord,  what  was  this  thing  called  love?  It  was 
symbolized  as  a  winged  cherub  and  expressed  in 
terms  of  June  roses,  and  yet  it  drove  men  relent- 
lessly to  the  very  brink,  and  over,  of  death.  And 
women,  too;  young  women  scarcely  out  of  girl- 
hood. 

And  it  drove  men  on  to  life  when  death  would 
be  simpler.  Allston  did  not  want  to  die.  He 
wanted  to  get  back  to  Wilmer.  Give  him  one 
more  hour  alone  with  her  and  he  would  beat 
down  her  reserve  —  would  sweep  her  into  his 
arms  and  hold  her  there.  He  had  been  playing 
with  love.  He  had  not  realized  the  bigness  of 
his  passion.  It  had  seemed  to  him  some  dainty, 
fragile  emotion  to  be  handled  as  cautiously  as  a 
delicate  vase.  And  love  was  one  of  the  tw^o  vital 
things  of  a  man's  being.   There  were  only  two; 


BIG  LAUREL  225 

love  and  death.  Everything  else  was  trivial.  And 
love  was  neither  of  the  intellect  nor  of  the  heart. 
It  was  of  the  soul. 

That  day  in  the  cove  when  he  had  seized  Wil- 
mer's  hand,  his  soul  had  spoken.  It  had  bid  him 
take,  then  and  there.  She  had  drawn  back  from 
him  —  yes.  But  that  was  because  he  was  half- 
hearted.  He  had  not  pressed  on. 

Roxie  moved  a  little. 

"You're  cold.'^"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"No.  Are  you?" 

"Cold  — here.?" 

"  The  fire  is  going  out,"  he  answered.  "  I  '11 
poke  around  and  see  if  I  can't  find  a  blanket." 

"  Please  don't,"  she  pleaded. 

But  he  rose  abruptly.  He  needed  to  be  on  his 
feet.   Instantly  she  rose,  too. 

"  He  '11  git  yuh  through  the  winder." 

"  You  stay  here,"  he  ordered. 

"  Mister  Allston !  " 

He  moved  down  the  hallway  towards  one  of 
the  side  rooms.   She  followed. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  he  commanded. 

She  obeyed,  but  her  lips  began  to  tremble.  She 
did  not  want  to  let  him  out  of  her  sight.  She  was 


226  BIG  LAUREL 

afraid  lest  the  dark  might  swallow  him  up  for- 
ever. She  was  none  too  sure  of  him  now.  The 
fairy  book  might  close  at  any  moment  and  the 
story  end. 

But  he  came  back  with  his  arms  full  of 
blankets  torn  from  the  bed  —  clean  new  blankets 
which  Bud  had  bought  within  a  week.  He  spread 
one  down  upon  the  floor  for  her  to  lie  on. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  get  a  little  sleep  in  the  next 
few  hours,"  he  suggested. 

"  Only  I  don'  wanter  sleep,"  she  answered. 

"Lie  down,  an}^^ay." 

"What  you  goneter  do?" 

"  I  'm  going  to  cover  you  up." 

"And  then.?" 

"  I  'm  going  to  think,  Roxie.  I  'm  going  to 
think  hard." 

"Here?" 

"  Here  beside  you." 

"All  right." 

She  lay  down  prone  upon  her  back  and  he 
covered  her  as  he  might  have  covered  a  child. 

"You'll  save  one  blanket  for  yuhself  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"I  don't  need  any.' 


» 


BIG  LAUREL  227 

"Please.  It'll  be  cold  afore  mornin'." 

To  quiet  her  he  threw  one  over  his  shoulders 
and  resumed  his  place  near  her.  She  reached 
for  his  hand,  found  it,  and  grasped  one  linger* 
So  she  thought  she  held  him  safe. 

It  was  well  enough  for  her  to  think  so  during 
those  next  few  hours.  It  brought  her  comfort 
and  did  no  harm  to  any  one.  Yet,  tight  as  she 
gripped  that  finger,  he  —  though  she  did  not 
know  it  —  instantly  slipped  away.  She  had  no 
more  of  him  than  a  few  hours  before  Bud  had 
had  of  her. 

But  it  was  the  feel  of  her  warm  hand  that  made 
Allston  realize  that  the  difference  between  life 
and  death  is  not  so  crudely  simple  as  the  differ- 
ence between  mobility  and  immobility.  That  dis- 
tinction satisfied  the  God  of  War.  He  was  content 
with  incapacity.  Ineffectiveness  was  death.  He 
even  preferred  total  disability  because  it  turned 
a  man  from  an  asset  into  a  liability,  though  still 
able  to  feel  and  to  think. 

But  the  God  of  Peace,  when  He  marked  a  man, 
did  not  stop  here.  He  demanded  annihilation. 
With  the  body  must  go  all  the  emotions  and  all 
the  thoughts.  A  man  to  be  dead  must  be  dead  all 


228  BIG  LAUREL 

over  —  must  be  resolved  into  his  elements.  Noth- 
ing must  be  left  of  him  on  this  planet  except  a 
memory.  And  that  faded  as  rapidly  as  an  un- 
finished print. 

Allston  did  not  propose  to  submit  to  any  such 
programme  without  a  struggle.  Before  such  a 
contingency  every  sense  became  doubly  acute. 
He  was  as  alert  to  sounds  as  a  squirrel.  He 
jumped  at  every  creak,  not  in  fear,  but  in  readi- 
ness. The  automatic  in  his  hand  responded  sub- 
consciously, finding  direction  with  sureness.  His 
eyes  pierced  the  dark  so  that  he  saw  even  into  the 
far  corners  of  the  room  where  before  he  could  not 
see.  Once  a  rat  crept  out  of  the  hallway  and  be- 
fore he  knew  what  he  was  about  Allston  had 
fired  —  and  killed.  Roxie  sprang  up  quivering 
from  head  to  foot,  and  it  took  him  ten  minutes  to 
quiet  her. 

But  if  Allston  was  alert  to  the  present,  he  was 
even  more  alert  to  the  future.  His  thoughts  ran 
ahead  like  galloping  horses  in  response  to  the  call 
of  new  needs.  He  had,  all  these  years,  merely 
scratched  the  surface  while  he  thought  he  had 
been  digging  deep  into  the  very  bowels  of  the 
earth.  Before  he  was  out  of  college  he  had  in  an 


BIG  LAUREL  229 

academic  way  been  ready  to  grapple  with  life. 
On  top  of  that  he  had,  through  war,  been  brought 
into  deadly  contact  with  life  itself  —  with  what 
he  had  considered  the  big  basic  elements  of  ex- 
istence. He  had  been  plunged  from  poetry  into 
prose.  So  he  had  completed  the  cycle.  There  was 
little  left  for  him  to  know.  His  own  problem 
was  to  classify  and  card-index  his  wide  expe- 
riences—  to  put  them  in  order  for  use. 

Only  one  element  had  been  left  out  of  the  past 
few  years  —  a  relatively  unimportant  element. 
That  was  the  element  of  love  —  a  distinctly 
peace-time  element.  He  had  even  touched  upon 
that  superficially.  And  he  had  more  or  less  ex- 
pected to  go  into  it  more  fully  at  his  leisure.  But 
not  until  the  noise  of  the  big  guns  was  out  of  his 
ears;  not  until  the  ghastly  realities  had  faded 
away;  not  until  the  little  mounds  had  flattened 
down  and  the  trenches  been  filled  in;  not,  in 
brief,  until  —  if  ever  —  he  was  able  to  get  away 
from  actuality  into  that  pleasant  poet's  paradise 
of  dreams.  There  would  be  time  enough  then 
for  the  pretty  drama  of  love. 

So  he  had  thought  of  it.  So  he  had  stepped 
forward  lightly  to  meet  the  little  winged  cherub. 


230  BIG  LAUREL 

So  he  had  challenged  him  to  shoot  his  swiftest 
and  straightest.  Even  after  he  had  felt  the  first 
sting  of  the  dart,  he  had  smiled  on.  The  wound 
smarted,  but  it  was  by  no  means  serious. 

Then  this  night  had  come  —  the  second  act 
of  a  whimsical  Barrie  comedy.  There  was  height- 
ened action  at  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  but  that 
might  be  significant  or  not.  He  had  held  him- 
self ready  to  laugh  at  any  moment.  As  the  scene 
progressed,  it  had  not  been  as  easy,  but  still  he 
would  have  followed  any  cue  Wilmer  had  given 
him  up  to  the  moment  she  lighted  her  candle  and 
disappeared  for  the  night. 

The  succeeding  scenes  followed  quickly,  and 
they  had  ranged  from  melodrama  to  genuine 
tragedy,  all  based  on  this  one  theme  of  love.  Not, 
however,  love  as  he  had  conceived  it.  This  had 
been  no  affair  for  winged  cherubs  to  indulge  in. 
And  it  had  ceased  to  be  a  play.  It  was  too  se- 
rious—  too  grimly  real  for  that.  This  had  been 
a  man's  game.  And  a  woman's  game,  too.  But 
the  stakes  were  terribly  high. 

Sitting  there  in  the  corner  of  this  darkened 
shack  waiting  for  the  dawn  (which  for  all  he 
knew  might  turn  out  to  be  night),  with  this  other 


BIG  LAUREL  231 

palpitating  human  being  so  curiously  involved 
with  him,  Allston  began  to  sense  something  of 
what  love  really  is.  As  he  vibrated  to  the  dy- 
namic power  of  this  mighty  force,  he  began  to 
sense  something  of  what  life  really  is.  And  the 
iwo  were  one. 

The  two  were  one;  that  was  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  both  love  and  life.  A  man  floundered 
on  trying  to  separate  the  inseparable  until  he 
discovered  this.  Neither  prose  nor  poetry;  reality 
nor  dreams ;  man  nor  woman,  had  any  real  ex- 
istence apart  from  the  other.  When  they  did 
unite,  their  potentiality  was  akin  to  that  of  God. 
Out  of  that  union  came  all  the  big  things  that 
are;  came  life  itself. 

Concretely  this  meant  for  Allston  that  woman 
w^ith  whom  he  had  been  in  such  light  contact  dur- 
ing these  last  few  weeks.  It  meant  Wilmer  Howe. 
And  yet  it  did  not  mean  the  Wilmer  who  in 
her  pretty  setting  had  been  acting  her  dainty 
comedy  —  the  idyl  of  the  winged  cherub  —  but 
the  real  woman  back  of  her;  the  woman  of  flesh 
arid  blood  whom  for  a  few  brief  seconds  he  had 
felt  when  he  grasped  her  hand;  the  woman  who 
was,  if  she  was  at  all,  in  the  secrecy  of  her  room. 


232  BIG  LAUREL 

And  how  he  hungered  for  her  now  in  this  crisis ! 
How,  had  she  been  near,  he  would  have  dragged 
her  out  of  herself  —  brutally  if  necessary!  How, 
had  she  been  as  close  to  him  as  this  other  was, 
he  would  have  covered  her  hair  and  forehead 
with  kisses,  kisses  both  sacred  and  burning.  His 
lips  grew  hot  and  dry  at  thought  of  it. 

Roxie  opened  her  drowsy  eyes. 

"  Yer  warm  enough? "  she  asked  with  the  ten- 
derness of  a  cooing  dove. 

Allston  started. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  I  feel 's  though  I  was  goin'  asleep." 

"  That 's  the  best  thing  you  could  do,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"  I  Ve  dreamed  a  dream  like  this,"  she  smiled 
gently. 

"  You  might  as  well  keep  on  dreaming  —  till 
morning." 

That  was  the  best  thing  she  could  do.  And  he 
was  entitled  to  his  dreams,  too,  until  morning. 
So  he  gave  himself  up  to  them  riotously,  but  with 
his  eyes  wide  open  and  his  brain  clear  —  as 
though  they  were  not  dreams  at  all.  It  was  as 
though  Wilmer  had  come  to  him  here  and  made 


BIG  LAUREL  23;^ 

herself  an  integral  part  of  him  —  blending  into 
him  until  she  became  one  with  him. 

It  was  Roxie  who  was  dreaming.  Her  eyes 
were  closed  and  her  breathing  regular.  Yet  from 
time  to  time  she  stirred  uneasily  in  her  sleep. 
Then  Allston,  fearing  lest  she  take  cold,  slipped 
the  blanket  from  his  shoulders  and  threw  it  over 
her  —  very  gently  so  that  she  would  not  awake. 
Her  face  in  repose  appeared  even  younger.  It 
was  quite  untroubled.  He  thanked  God  for  that. 
If  only  she  were  sleeping  safe  in  her  own  bed  as 
she  should  be! 

Allston  became  aware  of  the  approaching  dawn 
even  before  there  was  light.  The  wind  died 
down  so  that  it  was  quite  still  all  about  the  shack. 
But  within,  the  air  became  fresher  with  the  clear- 
ness of  atomized  spring  water.  When  the  light 
did  begin  to  come,  it  came  subtly.  It  was  more  as 
though  the  dark  were  being  diluted.  Without 
moving,  Allston  watched  the  process  w4th  weird 
fascination.  He  wished  the  girl  to  sleep  as  long 
as  that  was  safe,  but  he  knew  this  could  not  be  for 
long.  The  sun  was  coming  up  behind  those  dark 
ridges,  and  it  was  only  a  question  of  a  very  brief 
time  when  it  would  enter  here  and  leave  them 


-234  BIG  LAUREL 

as  exposed  as  though  the  wall  of  the  shack  were 
torn  down.  Every  window  would  be  a  menace. 
There  would  not  be  a  corner  left  in  which  they 
could  hide. 

He  did  not  wish  to  hide.  Light  was  what  he 
was  waiting  for  —  light  that  would  allow  Bud  to 
distinguish  between  him  and  Roxie.  Only  he 
must  time  himself  nicely ;  it  must  be  clear  enough 
not  to  permit  of  any  mistake  on  Bud's  part,  but 
not  clear  enough  to  allow  the  man  to  shoot 
through  the  windows. 

On  the  shelf  over  the  fireplace  there  was  a  row 
of  crocks.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  count  these, 
Allston  would  rouse  the  girl.  That  time  came 
within  five  minutes.  He  made  out  four  of  them  — 
one,  two,  three,  four.  He  placed  his  hand  on 
Roxie's  head  and  whispered  her  name.  She 
started  to  her  feet,  staring  about  wildly. 

"Steady,"  whispered  Allston.  "It's  morning." 

The  girl  was  confused.  It  was  difficult  for  her 
to  grasp  the  situation. 

"  Listen,"  he  commanded.  "  I  'm  going  out  be- 
fore he  can  see  us  here.  It 's  the  only  way.  You  're 
to  stay  behind  until  I  get  across  the  clearing. 
Then  you  follow.  You  '11  be  safe." 


BIG  LAUREL  235 

"  I  '11  be  safe ! "  she  cried.  "  But  you?  " 

"  I  must  take  my  chances." 

"  Then  I  wanter  take  mine  —  with  yuh." 

"  You  '11  only  spoil  mine,"  he  frowned.  "  I  can 
get  across  there  alone,  and  once  in  the  woods 
I  'II  wait  for  you.  Straight  from  the  house  and 
across  the  road.  You  understand?" 

"  N0-0-,"  she  whimpered. 

"  If  he  tries  to  stop  you,  I  '11  have  him  covered. 
Straight  across  and  into  the  woods." 

Already  the  crocks  on  the  shelf  were  becoming 
too  visible. 

"You've  been  game  till  now;  be  game  to  the 
end,"  he  whispered. 

Beseechingly  she  stood  before  him  with  up- 
lifted face.  He  stooped  and  brushed  her  forehead. 

"God  bless  you  —  whatever  happens,"  he 
choked. 

Then,  before  she  could  catch  her  breath,  he 
swung  open  the  door  and,  crouching  a  little, 
dashed  out.  He  had  not  gone  ten  feet  before  a 
rifle  cracked  from  the  spring-house. 

Allston  crumpled  up  like  an  empty  sack. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

It  was  half-past  nine  when  Wilmer  left  Allston 
alone  in  front  of  the  open  fire  and  went  upstairs. 
And  though  it  was  after  midnight  before  she  fell 
asleep,  she  had  not  then  heard  his  footsteps  along 
the  hall.  She  had  listened,  too,  rather  closely. 
The  man  had  been  in  her  thoughts  every  minute 
since  she  bade  him  good-night  and  retreated  to 
her  room.  Her  abrupt  and  somewhat  inhos- 
pitable departure  was  a  retreat  —  nothing  less. 
She  had  been  neither  weary,  sleepy,  nor  bored. 
In  fact,  she  had  retired  at  a  moment  when  she 
had  felt  herself  more  than  usually  alert  and  alive 
both  mentally  and  physically  —  more  alive  than 
she  felt  it  either  discreet  or  safe  to  be.  When  a 
carefully  nurtured  and  intelligent  young  woman 
finds  herself  prompted  to  such  intimate  acts  of 
tenderness  as  smoothing  back  the  hair  from  the 
forehead  of  a  man  she  has  lately  chided  for  being 
too  boldly  impulsive,  it  would  seem  to  be  high 
time  for  her  to  remove  herself  out  of  danger  even 
though  that  involves  a  humiliating  confession.  It 
was  no  argument  either  that  because  his  hair  was 


BIG  LAUREL  237 

light  and  all  awry,  it  appeared  like  the  hair  of  a 
boy;  or  that  because  his  face  was  troubled,  her 
tenderness  was  justified  on  purely  humanitarian 
grounds.  Besides,  she  had  considered  nothing  of 
the  sort.  She  had  wished  to  do  it  because  some 
newly  roused  instinct  craved  satisfaction  in  just 
that  way. 

There  was  no  use  in  lying.  That  was  both 
cowardly  and  useless.  If  there  were  mortal  sin 
here  this  was  no  way  of  ridding  one's  self  of  it. 
One  should  probe  for  causes.  That  is  what  the 
intellect  is  for.  The  ability  to  do  this  or  not  is 
what  distinguishes  between  the  intelligent  and 
the  unintelligent. 

Well,  then,  the  reason  she  had  wished  to 
smooth  back  the  hair  from  Allston's  forehead 
was  because  —  she  had  wished  to  do  it.  He  was 
worried  and  she  held  herself  partly  responsible. 
She  could  not  help  this.  She  had  tried  to  be  honest 
both  with  him  and  herself  —  to  speak  the  truth 
as  she  saw  it.  But  having  done  this  she  was  sorry 
because  it  had  not  helped  to  dissipate  his  per- 
plexity. It  had  only  more  deeply  involved  them 
both.  Words  had  been  unavailing.  It  was  then 
that  this  strangely  primitive  impulse  had  asserted 


238  BIG  LAUREL 

itself.  Her  warm  hand  urged  her  to  express  what 
her  tongue  could  not. 

She  had  conquered  the  temptation.  That  is  a 
woman's  lot;  to  conquer  and  conquer  and  con- 
quer. Given  emotions  more  acute  than  those  of 
men,  she  is  asked  to  control  them  more  com- 
pletely. If  she  does  not,  she  is  never  forgiven. 
She  has  betrayed  her  trust. 

She  had  conquered  the  physical  impulse,  but 
that  was  all.  Alone  here  in  her  room  she  knew 
that.  The  old  tenderness  returned  —  the  tender- 
ness that  sought  expression  in  action.  And  after 
all  perhaps  it  was  not  so  strange.  Men  have 
always  sought  and  women  always  given  this 
tangible  proof  of  their  feelings.  Down  through 
the  years  a  woman  has  spoken  her  heart  through 
the  touch  of  her  hand  and  lips.  Speech  has  been 
left  for  men. 

In  her  room  with  the  dark  all  around  her, 
Wilmer  allowed  herself  to  relax  somewhat.  But 
vigilance  is  the  eternal  price  of  liberty  in  more 
senses  than  one.  The  moment  she  permitted  her 
thoughts  to  wander  where  they  would,  they  went 
where  she  would  not.  Only  once  before  had  she 
felt  herself  the  victim  of  this  unseen  power,  and 


BIG  LAUREL  139 

the  man  who  was  responsible  now  lay  dead  at 
Chateau-Thierry. 

She  had  been  younger  then.  Over  twenty,  every 
year  counts  double  in  a  woman's  life  until  she 
reaches  full  maturity.  Her  youth  had  been  an 
excuse  where  now  it  no  longer  was.  And  yet  she 
doubted  if  at  twenty  she  would  have  had  to  fight 
so  hard  for  control.  Her  emotions  were  feebler 
then. 

To  add  to  her  confusion  she  was  not  at  all  sure 
what  it  was  she  was  trying  to  repulse.  There  is  so 
much  vagueness  in  a  young  woman's  life;  so 
much  hinted  at,  but  never  made  clear;  so  much 
guessed,  but  not  known.  It  is  probably  true  that 
they  are  more  of  a  mystery  to  themselves  than 
to  the  young  men  who  look  upon  them  with  such 
awe.  It  was  certainly  true  of  Wilmer  in  spite  of 
all  her  reading. 

No  two  authorities  seemed  to  her  able  to  agree 
on  this  thing  called  love;  whether  it  was  some- 
thing to  welcome  or  something  to  be  guarded 
against.  Before  Allston  came  along  she  had  been 
inclining  to  the  latter  view,  for  it  appeared  to  lead 
more  often  to  unhappiness  than  to  happiness. 
Most  tragedies  were  born  of  love ;  the  great  trage- 


240  BIG  LAUREL 

dies  as  well  as  the  sordid  little  ones.  In  most  cases 
woman  was  the  victim,  and  when  not,  most  cer- 
tainly deserved  to  be.  The  good  women  suffered 
to  themselves;  the  bad  women  caused  others  to 
suffer. 

If  this  were  true,  then  love  was  something 
to  be  fought  off  like  an  evil  spirit.  But  the  trouble 
was  that  instead  of  gaining  strength  as  she  strug- 
gled, as  in  other  contests  of  her  life,  she  felt  her 
resistance  to  be  constantly  weakening.  The  more 
she  argued,  the  feebler  became  her  arguments ; 
the  more  bitterly  she  condemned  herself,  the 
more  ardently  she  desired.  Hour  by  hour  her  in- 
tellect had  been  giving  way  to  her  emotions.  She 
was  becoming,  looking  at  it  in  one  way,  less  and 
less  intelligent  in  her  attitude  to  this  burning 
problem. 

And  yet  if  her  slow  retreat  did  not  bring  her 
back  into  safer  territory,  it  left  her  on  more  famil- 
iar ground.  Forced  to  her  base,  she  found  that 
base  to  be  her  heart.  And  her  heart  was  more 
peculiarly  herself  than  her  mind. 

There  are,  in  every  woman,  two  women;  the 
one  coolly,  calmly,  deliberately,  intelligently 
formed,  and  within  her  another,  often  enough  im- 


BIG  LAUREL  241 

prisoned  for  life,  the  creation  of  God.  Shyly  the 
latter  sits  in  silence  peeping  as  she  finds  her  op- 
portunity through  the  eyes  —  safe  hidden  in  the 
eyes  —  or  makes  her  presence  felt  through  a 
touch  of  the  hand  or,  in  full  power,  through  the 
lips.  And  this  woman  grows  and  grows  if  given 
half  a  chance.  If  not  she  sickens  and  dies  — 
pathetically,  tragically.  And  what  is  left  after 
that  may  be  admirable,  but  does  not  win 
admiration. 

It  was  face  to  face  with  this  other  self  that 
Wilmer  now  found  herself  —  an  elfish,  wholly 
irresponsible  self,  although  governed  by  some- 
thing bigger  even  than  thought.  And  when 
the  word  love  reached  this  Other,  it  was  as 
though  she  sprang  into  radiantly  full  being. 
Flushed  and  palpitating,  eyes  brimming  with  dar- 
ing and  eagerness,  she  asserted  herself.  She  was 
Youth  with  all  the  hardy  qualities  of  youth;  she 
was  Life  with  all  the  adventurous  enthusiasm  of 
life;  she  was  Womanhood  with  all  the  steady 
courage  of  womanhood.  She  asked  no  questions, 
but  she  whispered  secrets. 

She  whispered  secrets  to  Wilmer  lying  there  in 
the  dark  —  big  secrets,  holy  secrets,  quickening 


242  BIG  LAUREL 

secrets.  She  spoke  of  love  quite  fearlessly  —  at 
times  almost  fiercely.  With  eyes  that  were  like 
the  blazing  sun,  with  nostrils  that  quivered,  with 
a  mouth  opened  for  frank  laughter,  she  chal- 
lenged the  world  to  deny  her. 

And  Wilmer,  her  pretty  white  arm  thrown 
over  her  forehead,  stared  and  marveled  until 
finally  her  eyes  grew  heavy  and  she  slipped  away 
into  a  dream  world. 

She  awoke  at  dawn.  She  started  to  her  elbow 
to  listen  once  again  for  the  footsteps  of  Allston. 
The  house  was  silent  —  the  utter  silence  of  early 
morning.  She  realized  then  that  she  must  have 
slept  and  that  he  had  passed  her  door  during  that 
interval.  She  fell  back  to  her  pillow,  but  her  eyes 
remained  wide  open.  She  had  a  feeling  that 
something  had  happened  in  the  last  few  hours  — 
something  big.  It  is  so  one  awakes  after  joyous 
news,  unable  for  a  second  to  recall  it.  The  emo- 
tion remains,  but  unrelated.  Then  suddenly  she 
remembered,  and  her  face  became  as  radiant  as 
the  face  of  that  other  woman.  She  was  that  other 
woman  — that  heart  woman.  In  her  dreams,  love 
had  taken  possession. 

She  sprang  from  bed,  and  crossing  to  the  open 


BIG  LAUREL  243 

window  looked  out  at  the  dawn.  The  quickening 
sky  greeted  her  like  a  sister.  The  east  was  still 
a  silver  gray,  but  it  looked  so  fresh  and  clean  and 
cool  that  impulsively  she  threw  out  her  arms  to- 
wards it.  So  she  did  towards  all  the  trees  and 
grasses,  though  they  were  still  half  hidden  in  the 
dark.  There  were  shadows  there,  too,  but  they 
were  friendly  shadows.  She  did  not  fear  them  in 
the  least.  They  called  to  her  to  come  out  under 
the  sky  and  be  refreshed  like  them. 

She  felt  cramped  here  in  her  room.  She  wished 
to  be  part  of  the  dawn.  And  so  dressing  quickly 
she  stole  downstairs  to  the  sitting-room.  The 
fire  was  out,  but  the  chair  in  which  Allston  had 
sat  was  still  in  its  place  before  the  cold  hearth. 
Her  hand  fell  upon  it  caressingly.  It  had  become 
individualized  to  her.  There  were  other  chairs  in 
the  room  of  similar  design,  but  these  were  merely 
so  many  indifferent  pieces  of  wicker  furniture. 
This  was  his  chair.  This  would  always  be  his 
chair. 

She  moved  across  the  room  to  find  a  wrap,  and 
when  opposite  the  door  leading  into  the  kitchen 
was  stopped  by  a  draft  as  from  an  open  window. 
That  was  unusual  because  her  father  was  rather 


244  BIG  LAUREL 

finicky  about  having  the  house  tight-locked  at 
night,  and  Roxie  knew  this.  For  a  moment  she 
hesitated.  It  was  not  yet  full  day,  but  she  could 
see  well  enough  to  distinguish  objects  within. 
Perhaps  Roxie  was  up.   She  often  rose  early. 

Wilmer  ventured  to  the  threshold  and  called 
the  girl's  name.  She  received  no  response,  but 
she  saw  then  it  was  not  a  window  but  the  outside 
door  that  was  open.  It  affected  her  as  something 
dramatic.  Nothing  can  be  more  significant  than 
a  door  open  when  it  should  be  closed  or  closed 
when  it  should  be  open.  It  involves  a  human  ele- 
ment that  may  mean  much. 

On  the  whole,  Wilmer  was  now  sorry  she  had 
come  down  here.  She  was  no  more  than  ordi- 
narily timid,  but  there  is  something  unnatural 
about  a  house  before  it  has  awakened.  The  si- 
lence, for  one  thing,  is  intensive.  One  feels  like 
an  intruder,  and  like  an  intruder  is  never  sure  of 
what  one  may  stumble  upon.  The  night  things 
do  not  vanish  except  before  direct  rays  of  either 
sun  or  lamp. 

Finally,  with  considerable  effort,  she  crossed 
the  kitchen  and  hurriedly  closed  the  door  —  with 
an  odd  feeling,  before  it  latched,  that  something 


BIG  LAUREL  245 

from  without  might  resist  her  efforts.  She  was 
left  a  little  out  of  breath.  Which  was  absurd,  of 
course.  She  realized  this  as  soon  as  she  had 
turned  the  lock. 

But  now  the  dead  stove  and  the  dumb  kettle 
and  the  silent  pots  and  pans  hanging  all  around 
oppressed  her.  A  kitchen  is  a  living  thing  ex- 
pressed in  terms  of  noise  and  movement.  When 
it  is  quiet  and  still,  it  is  out  of  character.  More- 
over, it  emphasized  the  absence  of  Roxie.  She 
was  always  here,  or  at  least  some  evidence  of  her. 

Wilmer  listened  for  her  footsteps  overhead. 
She  ought  by  now  to  be  dressing.  The  first  feeble 
chirps  of  the  early  birds  could  be  heard  outside 
and  she  always  rose  with  them.  It  was  not  neces- 
sary for  her  to  get  up  at  this  hour,  but  she  always 
did. 

A  peculiar  sense  of  loneliness  sw^ept  over  Wil- 
mer. She  felt  suddenly  conscious  of  being  the 
only  live  thing  about  in  the  house.  She  wished 
to  see  Roxie  —  to  hear  another  human  voice.  It 
was  this  which  impelled  her  up  the  stairs  to  the 
girl's  door.  It  was  closed  and  she  heard  no  move- 
ment within.  She  rapped  gently  and  received  no 
response.  Then  she  turned  the  knob  and  gently 


246  BIG  LAUREL 

pressed  the  door  open.  Her  eyes  sought  the  bed. 
It  was  empty. 

And  in  the  center  of  the  room  there  stood  one 
shoe  and  beside  it  a  bit  of  paper.  She  picked  up 
the  note  and  hurrying  to  the  window  read  it. 
Her  heart  stopped  beating  for  a  moment.  Roxie 
had  gone.  Reading  between  the  Hnes  as  clearly 
as  Allston  had  done,  she  knew  with  whom.  But 
there  were  some  other  things  between  the  lines, 
clear  enough  to  Allston,  which  she  did  not  under- 
stand. 

Clutching  the  crumpled  bit  of  paper,  Wilmer 
came  back  to  the  sitting-room.  When  the  note 
had  been  written,  she  had  no  way  of  knowing, 
but  the  undisturbed  bed  indicated  that  it  was 
the  evening  before.  Roxie  was  generally  asleep  by 
ten.  She  had  been  gone,  then,  some  seven  hours. 
But  why  had  she  left  at  such  an  hour  if  with  Bud.^^ 
She  had  heard  the  girl  in  the  kitchen  until  after 
nine,  and  that  was  too  late  for  the  completion  of 
even  a  runaway  match.  There  was  an  element 
of  the  inexplicable  here  which  urged  her  to  seek 
Allston  at  once.  And,  besides,  she  wanted  him 
for  herself. 

Here  was   an   emergency  demanding   action. 


BIG  LAUREL  247 

and  she  turned  to  this  man  as  naturally  as,  a  day 
ago,  she  would  have  turned  to  her  father.  As  soon 
as  this,  he  had  slipped  into  place  by  her  side. 
He  was  there  to  help  whenever  she  needed  help. 
And  he  was  there  in  a  more  vital  sense  than  ever 
her  father  had  been.  If  the  latter  was  a  wise 
counselor,  he  also  stood  in  need  of  counsel ;  if 
a  protector,  he  also  was  often  in  need  of  protec- 
tion. If  he  was  her  right  hand,  she  was  his  left 
hand. 

But  Allston  stood  out  full-bodied,  by  himself. 
He  needed  no  assistance.  He  could  relieve  her 
wholly  of  such  a  responsibility  as  this. 

And  yet,  as  she  made  her  way  up  the  stairs  and 
down  the  hallway  to  his  room,  she  began  to  ques- 
tion. To  give  him  this  note  was  to  rouse  him.  To 
place  this  situation  before  him  was  to  lead  him 
into  danger.  For  he  would  follow  Roxie.  There 
was  no  doubt  about  that.  He  would  follow  until 
he  learned  whether  the  girl  had  entered  upon  this 
mad  venture  of  her  own  volition  or  not.  That 
involved  a  terrible  risk. 

Wilmer,  a  few  feet  from  his  door,  paused,  lean- 
ing against  the  wall  for  support.  If  she  waited  a 
few  hours,  then  he  might  seek  help  on  his  mission. 


248  BIG  LAUREL 

A  dozen  men  from  the  village  would  be  willing  to 
accompany  him  on  such  an  errand.  With  the 
house  surrounded,  Bud  would  be  forced  to  ex- 
plain or  to  surrender. 

But  if  Roxie  were  in  actual  danger,  then  a  few 
hours  might  mark  the  difference  between  life  and 
death,  between  honor  and  dishonor. 

It  was  a  cruel  dilemma  in  which  to  place  a 
woman  in  so  brief  a  time  after  she  had  awakened 
to  the  full  realization  of  love.  It  made  little  dif- 
ference that  her  love  had  not  yet  been  confessed 
—  even  that  she  had  no  assurance  that  it  would 
be  reciprocated.  Once  she  had  made  the  admis- 
sion to  herself,  it  existed  —  even  if  she  lived  the 
rest  of  her  years  with  lips  tight  sealed.  To  her  it 
was  a  reality  at  this  moment  —  a  stupendous 
reality.  She  loved  as  only  a  woman  can  love  who 
has  fought  against  love.  It  burned  within  her  now 
like  a  white-hot  flame. 

In  the  end  her  decision  was  based,  not  upon 
Roxie,  but  upon  herself  and  the  man  she  loved. 
To  be  true  to  that  love,  she  must  send  him;  to 
be  true  to  that  love,  he  must  go.  If  this  new-found 
passion  meant  anything,  it  meant  being  true  to 
the  highest;  it  meant  willingness  to  sacrifice  to 


BIG  LAUREL  249 

the  highest.  If  she  quailed  before  such  a  clean- 
cut  issue  as  this,  she  could  never  again  respect 
that  love;  if  she  saved  him  at  such  a  cost,  she 
could  never  respect  that  which  she  had  saved. 

With  head  up,  if  with  knees  weak,  she  knocked 
at  his  door.  And  as  she  did  so  it  was  as  though 
not  her  hand  but  her  naked  heart  were  beating 
against  the  wooden  panels.  The  ache  of  it  made 
her  tremble.  To  add  to  the  agony  she  was  forced 
to  do  it  again  —  and  yet  again.  The  silence 
following  hurt,  too.  It  raised  new  fears.  These 
accumulated  so  rapidly  that  she  was  soon  in  a 
panic.  Scarcely  conscious  of  what  she  was  about, 
she  turned  the  knob  and  pushed  open  his  door  — 
standing  back  as  she  did  so.  Light  is  indifferent. 
It  cares  not  what  it  reveals.  It  showed  now  with 
grim  starkness  Allston's  empty,  untouched  bed. 

And  a  vacant  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

The  fact  that  Allston  had  gone  last  night  and 
had  not  yet  returned  was  as  convincing  proof  to 
Wilmer  of  some  mishap  to  him  as  a  direct 
message  would  have  been.  Had  he  accomplished 
his  purpose,  he  would  have  been  back  within 
three  hours  —  four  at  the  most.  Such  under- 
takings are  decided  quickly.  When  two  strong 
men  meet  in  mountain  country  over  such  an 
issue,  the  argument  is  not  long-drawn-out.  And 
the  end  is  apt  to  be  definite. 

So  for  a  moment  the  girl  stared  at  the  empty 
bed  as  one  stares  helplessly  at  the  jerky  telegrams 
on  yellow  paper  that  are  brutally  thrust  into  one's 
life.  Direct  blows  between  the  eyes  these,  which 
stun.  And  however  grimly  concrete  the  news,  it 
is  difficult  to  understand  because  it  comes 
through  such  a  thin  medium.  All  is  well  —  then 
a  bit  of  yellow  paper  —  and  all  is  over. 

Wilmer  did  not  have  even  as  much  as  a  written 
report;  just  an  opened  door  and  silence.  But  if 
the  message  had  been  written  in  burning  letters 
of  fire  or  shouted  at  her  through  a  megaphone,  it 


BIG  LAUREL  251 

could  have  told  her  no  more.  He  had  gone  to 
meet  Bud  Childers  and  he  had  not  come  back. 

Dazed  as  the  girl  was,  she  held  herself  well. 
Facing  the  little  things  about  his  room,  she  stood 
straight  as  though  facing  something  of  him.  His 
courage  called  for  her  courage.  Whatever  had 
happened  to  him,  she  knew  he  had  accepted  like 
a  man,  so  that  whatever  had  happened,  she  must 
accept  like  a  woman.  If  some  of  the  color 
vanished  from  her  cheeks  that  was  not  her  fault. 
She  could  not  control  this.  But  she  could  control 
her  trembling  lips  and  did.  Turning  from  the 
room,  she  found  her  way  back  downstairs  and  to 
the  sitting-room.  There  she  saw  again  his  chair 
—  the  chair  in  which  he  had  sat  last  evening. 
For  a  second  she  tottered.  All  the  little  things  of 
him  seemed  so  doubly  important  now.  Every 
suggestion  of  him  was  so  vital.  It  might  be  —  it 
might  be  that  this  was  all  she  had  left ;  traces  at 
a  moment  when  she  hungered  for  a  hundred 
times  more  than  she  had  ever  had  when  within 
arm's  length  of  him. 

She  pronounced  his  name  below  her  breath. 
Just  this  — 

"  Ned." 


252  BIG  LAUREL 

Then  louder  as  though  the  name  itself  could 
bring  him  nearer. 

"  Ned,"  she  called.  "  Ned/* 

She  received  no  answer.  The  man  who  had 
been  here  yesterday  —  who  would  have  responded 
to  her  lightest  whisper  —  did  not  count.  And  if 
he  could  have  answered  as  of  yesterday,  that 
would  not  have  counted.  It  was  to-day  —  now  — 
that  she  wanted  him.  It  was  this  minute  —  this 
second.  She  wanted  him  to  come  to  her  and  place 
his  arms  about  her  and  hold  her  tight ;  she  wanted 
the  feel  of  his  lips  and  the  sound  of  his  voice. 
She  wanted  him  in  the  flesh  with  all  his  tousled 
light  hair.  She  was  empty  without  him  —  as 
empty  as  a  mother  with  an  unweighted  arm. 

Tears  started  to  her  hot  eyes,  and,  burying  her 
face  in  her  hands,  she  knelt  before  the  wicker 
chair  as  before  a  sacred  shrine. 

"God,  give  him  back  to  me,"  she  pleaded.  "I 
want  him.  I  want  him  so." 

If  all  the  prayers  of  women  were  answered, 
perhaps  there  would  be  no  need  of  other  prayers. 
How  many  go  trembling  up  through  the  day  and 
through  the  night ! 

Wilmer  rose  again  to  her  feet  —  steadied  and 


BIG  LAUREL  2S3 

strengthened.  It  may  be  that  this  is  the  most 
direct  and  best  answer  God  can  give  —  strength 
to  endure,  strength  to  act.  She  moved  towards 
the  kitchen  —  towards  the  door  she  had  found 
opened.  It  was  as  though  this  were  the  beginning 
of  the  trail  leading  to  his  side.  She  had  no  pre- 
conceived plan,  but  her  feet  took  her  here.  This 
was  the  path  Hoxie  had  taken;  the  path  Ned 
Allston  had  taken.  It  was  the  path  she  must 
take. 

Her  heart  leaped  in  response  to  the  suggestion. 
She  must  follow  him.  If  he  could  not  come  to  her, 
she  must  go  to  him.  In  essence  the  idea  was 
foreign  to  her  nature.  She  was  neither  bold  nor 
venturesome.  Ordinarily  she  would  have  turned 
to  her  father,  but  now  this  never  occurred  to  her. 
He  played  no  part  in  this  early  morning  drama. 
He  slept  and  he  must  sleep  on.  This  did  not  con- 
cern him.  It  concerned  her  alone  —  that  inner 
woman  who  in  a  sense  had  never  had  a  father. 

The  drawer  of  the  kitchen  table  was  open  — 
pulled  far  out.  Her  eyes  caught  the  gray  sheen  of 
steel.  She  had  never  seen  these  articles  except  as 
so  many  cooking-utensils.  But  they  were  more 
than  that ;  they  were  weapons.  They  were  knives. 


254  BIG  LAUREL 

And  knives  were  for  both  defense  and  offense. 
She  crossed  the  room  and  picked  out  one  —  a 
thin-bladed,  pointed  knife  worn  down  by  much 
use.  She  thrust  this  into  her  bosom  and  returned 
to  the  door.  She  unlocked  it,  swung  it  open,  and 
went  out  into  the  dew-wet  grass. 

The  cool  of  the  unwarmed  dawn  air  which  met 
her  hot  skin  and  bathed  her  eyes  and  refreshed 
her  dry  throat  as  she  drank  it  deep  into  her  lungs, 
braced  her  like  wine.  Down  the  serpentine  drive 
she  went  walking  with  long,  steady  strides,  un- 
hurried in  spite  of  her  excited  heart  and  with  chin 
well  up.  She  wore  no  hat;  no  coat.  She  needed 
none.  Her  brown  hair,  which  had  not  been  as 
carefully  arranged  as  usual  this  morning,  soon 
fell  loose  until  it  hung  all  about  her  flushed 
cheeks  gypsy-wise.  Had  any  one  glimpsed  her,  he 
would  surely  have  thought  it  Roxie  who  was 
abroad  at  such  an  hour.  For  though  taller  she 
was  walking  with  that  rhythmic  swing,  all  from 
the  hips  down,  which  only  those  acquire  who  have 
lived  long  in  mountain  country  and  walked 
much.  And  her  feet  were  sure  on  the  rocky 
ground. 

The  sky  grew  pink  in  the  east,  but  she  saw  it 


BIG  LAUREL  255 

not.  Birds  began  to  stir  and  sing  among  the  wet 
leaves,  but  she  heard  them  not.  Squirrels  began 
to  chatter  —  squirrels  she  loved  to  stop  and  tease 
—  but  she  gave  no  heed  to  them.  As  far  as  she 
was  concerned  this  colorful,  vibrant  world  about 
her  was  as  desolate  as  the  moon  surface.  Her 
thoughts  were  all  of  the  man  towards  whom  she 
was  speeding. 

She  knew  this  road  well.  It  was  the  same  she 
had  taken  with  him  after  that  adventure  in  the 
sunlit  cove  which  lay  so  near  the  mountain  path 
leading  to  Bud's  shack.  She  had  laughed  at  her 
father's  fears  when  the  latter  warned  them  to 
avoid  that  neighborhood.  How  trivial  that  whole 
incident  now  seemed  to  her,  and  yet  it  had  played 
its  part.  It  was  playing  its  part  now.  It  was  lead- 
ing her  with  sure  feet  to  his  side. 

But  what  was  she  going  to  find  after  she 
reached  his  side.^*  It  was  a  question  she  fought  off. 
And  yet,  batlike,  the  question  returned  to  circle 
again  and  again  around  her  thoughts. 

Leaving  the  sandy  road  that  skirted  the  lower 
end  of  the  valley,  her  course  took  her  upwards  on 
a  trail  rough  as  a  stream-bed.  It  ran  like  a  tunnel 
through  the  dark  of  crowding  trees.  Laurel  and 


2^6  BIG  LAUREL 

rhododendron  and  sourwood  in  a  snarling  tangle 
beneath  beech  and  oak  pressed  close,  as  though 
bent  upon  obliterating  this  rough  gash  hacked 
through  their  fastness.  Overhead  the  dark 
branches  came  together  and  shut  out  the  sun.  It 
was  damp  and  shaded  here  and  the  pungent  smell 
of  the  earth  met  her  as  though  she  were  burrow- 
ing. She  hurried  a  little  up  the  steep  path  with  an 
uncanny  feeling  that  if  she  delayed  too  long  she 
might  be  enveloped.  The  growing  things  might 
seize  her,  might  twine  their  snaky  limbs  about  her 
and  force  her  down  into  this  same  earth  from 
which  they  sprang.  And  the  earth  was  cold  and 
damp.  She  wanted  none  of  it.  She  began  to  feel 
stifled,  and  broke  into  a  panic-stricken  run  that 
took  the  breath  out  of  her.  Halfway  up  she  had 
to  stop.  But  she  refused  to  sit  down.  She  did 
not  dare  sit  down.  She  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
road,  her  head  upturned,  her  eyes  trying  to  pierce 
the  green  canopy  above.  With  her  hands  hanging 
limply  by  her  side,  she  breathed  through  her 
mouth  because  her  nostrils  did  not  furnish  enough 
air.  Had  any  one  come  upon  her  so,  he  would 
have  thought  her  some  wild  thing  fleeing  from 
the  hunters. 


BIG  LAUREL  257 

Up  she  climbed  and  up  where  the  dawn  did  not 
reach  before  high  noon ;  up  and  up  and  up.  Until 
she  saw  the  end  of  the  tunnel.  Then,  breaking 
into  a  ru;i  again,  she  never  stopped  until  she 
plunged  out  upon  the  top  where  man  had  fought 
the  trees  to  the  death  and  left  a  summit  of  upland 
pasture  open  to  the  sky,  and  made  rich  farmland 
covered  with  blue  grass  dotted  with  grazing 
cattle.  She  felt  like  a  diver  coming  up  from  deep, 
brackish  water.  She  threw  herself  prone  on  her 
back  for  a  moment,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  wide 
expanse  of  clean  blue  sky,  shot  with  gold  up  here. 
Below  her  lay  the  crescent-shaped  valley  —  a 
picture  so  serenely  peaceful  in  contrast  to  what 
she  had  just  come  through  that  only  the  psalmist 
could  adequately  express  it.  The  lines  though 
unspoken  came  to  her  lips : 

"  He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures ; 
He  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters.  Though  I 
walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
I  will  fear  no  evil :   for  Thou  art  with  me." 

All  her  life  she  had  uttered  these  words  with- 
out any  appreciation  save  of  their  rhythmic 
beauty.  Now  they  were  like  a  voice  from  the  sky 
itself.  They  quenched,  like  cold  water,  the  fever 


258  BIG  LAUREL 

in  her  veins.  They  lent  a  significance  to  that 
beautiful  valley  below  which  she  was  never  to 
forget.  They  made  of  it,  for  all  time,  a  resting- 
place. 

But  she  could  not  pause  here.  She  kept  the 
road  along  the  ridge-top  until  she  passed  the 
Lutheran  church,  and  then  turned  down  the 
mountain-side  again  —  into  the  dark  forest  again. 
The  valley  was  behind  her  now ;  but  it  was  there. 
When  she  faltered  she  closed  her  eyes  and  re- 
called it  —  the  golden  warmth  of  it  and  the  serene 
promise  of  it.  It  helped  her  mightily  over  that 
last  mile ;  helped  her  as  she  dipped  down  towards 
Big  Laurel  Cove  —  towards  the  dragon  country. 
It  was  so  she  felt  —  like  the  lost  maidens  of  the 
fairy  books  in  the  creepy  land  of  devouring 
monsters.  She  was  terrified,  but  under  some  spell 
she  staggered  on.  The  strain  of  the  four  miles 
was  beginning  to  tell  on  her  legs.  And  the  ten- 
sion was  beginning  to  tell  on  her  thoughts.  She 
became  more  and  more  a  prey  to  the  vagaries  of 
her  excited  imagination.  A  squirrel  leaping  from 
one  bending  oak  branch  to  another  made  her 
start  and  clutch  at  her  knife  —  the  knife  which  all 
the  way  had  lain  like  a  bony  hand  against  her 
white  bosom. 


BIG  LAUREL  259 

Then  the  clearing  before  Bud's  shack  and  the 
log  crossing  the  stream,  and  beyond  it  —  the 
crumpled  form  of  Allston.  She  saw  it  from  the 
roadway  and  took  the  last  hundred  yards  in  a 
series  of  bounding  leaps  like  some  frantic  wild 
animal. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

At  the  sharp,  staccato  crack  of  Bud's  rifle  Roxie 
had  sprung  from  the  cabin.  She  was  out  before 
Allston  fell.  But  as  he  fell,  she  fell  too.  Her  legs 
gave  way  and  a  dark  cloud  settled  down  upon  her 
and  she  knew  no  more. 

From  the  rear  of  the  spring-house  Bud  uttered 
an  oath.  For  a  second  he  thought  he  had  made 
some  dreadful  mistake;  that  his  bullet  had  gone 
home  to  her.  Yet  there  in  a  heap  and  quite  mo- 
tionless lay  Allston.  His  automatic  had  dropped 
from  his  lifeless  fingers  and  fallen  several  feet 
away  —  quite  out  of  reach.  There  was  no  sham- 
ming in  that  pose. 

But  also,  prone,  lay  Roxie.  There  was  no 
shamming  in  her  pose  either.  She  had  fallen  face 
downward.  Bud  reloaded  and  ventured  forth,  his 
eyes  first  on  Allston  and  then  on  Roxie.  But 
strange  to  say  he  was  more  afraid  to  approach 
the  latter  than  the  former.  Halfwav  to  her  side 
he  stood  motionless  with  the  deepest,  blackest 
fear  he  had  ever  known  upon  him.  Fear  had  him 
by  the  throat  —  was  strangling  him  with  fiercer 


BIG  LAUREL  261 

passion  than  Allston  had  done.  His  arms  grew 
limp  and  his  rifle  dropped. 

He  tottered  forward,  stopped,  and  went  on 
again.  Then  the  last  ten  feet  he  took  at  a  run 
and  knelt  by  her  side.  He  turned  her  over.  She 
did  not  resist.  She  was  as  passive  as  a  child's  rag 
doll.  And  her  face  was  white  —  chalky  white. 
His  eyes  sought  her  bodice  near  the  heart.  There 
was  no  crimson  stain  there.  That  was  what  he 
had  feared.  He  felt  her  hands.  They  were  cold, 
but  he  caught  a  slow  pulse-beat.  It  was  as  though 
he  had  been  released  from  chains.  She  was  not 
dead,  and  that  was  enough. 

Rising,  Bud  glanced  at  Allston.  He  looked  at 
him  as  he  might  a  dead  branch  —  with  no  more 
pity,  with  no  more  regret.  The  damned  furriner's 
cheeks  were  not  as  pink  as  they  had  once  been. 
He  had  shot  true  this  time. 

A  squirrel  chattered.  Bud  came  to  alert.  This 
was  the  end  in  one  sense,  but  it  was  only  the 
beginning  in  another.  This  man  was  motionless, 
but  his  very  immobility  brought  a  new  danger. 
He  would  lie  there  one  hour,  two  hours,  perhaps 
three  hours.  He  would  make  no  sound.  He 
would  not  move  a  finger.  And  yet  all  the  while  he 


aSo.  BIG  LAUREL 

would  be  calling  —  calling  with  a  voice  that  might 
be  heard  throughout  the  county.  The  dead  are 
not  as  helpless  as  they  seem.  Allston  would  be 
missed,  in  time,  down  at  the  bungalow.  Some  one 
would  wonder  where  he  was  and  go  to  a  neighbor 
and  make  him  wonder  too.  They  would  go  to- 
gether to  a  third  neighbor  until  the  hue  and  cry 
was  raised.  Then  they  would  all  swarm  up  here 
together. 

Bud's  wild  eyes  turned  to  the  shack.  He  could 
not  stay  in  there.  However  tight  he  might  bar 
the  doors,  the  searchers  would  beat  them  down. 
His  home  was  no  longer  his  home.  He  had  killed 
more  things  than  one  when  he  shot  from  behind 
the  spring-house. 

But  at  that  he  had  not  killed  everything.  He 
himself  was  still  alive  and  Roxie  was  still  alive. 
And  back  of  him  lay  the  hills  still  alive  —  the 
tangled  hills  that  he  knew  as  a  squirrel  knows 
them.  Once  in  their  shelter  he  would  still  have 
some  sort  of  chance.  With  Roxie  by  his  side  he 
might  have  hours  —  even  days  —  days  that  would 
count  for  years. 

Bud  went  back  and  picked  up  his  rifle.  He 
would  need  that  now  more  than  ever.   Moving 


BIG  LAUREL  263 

swiftly  and  definitely,  he  entered  the  shack  and 
spreading  a  blanket  on  the  floor  hastily  tossed 
into  it  the  tinned  goods  he  had  lately  bought,  a 
small  bag  of  flour,  a  can  of  coffee,  some  sugar, 
salt,  a  frying-pan,  and  coffee  pot.  Drawing  the 
four  corners  together  he  tied  them  in  a  knot  and 
throwing  the  bundle  over  his  shoulder  came  out. 

Allston  still  lay  on  the  ground  quite  motion- 
less. So  too  did  Roxie.  But  there  was  a  difference 
—  a  significant  difference.  As  far  as  Bud  was 
concerned,  Allston  now  stood  only  for  the  past, 
while  Roxie  still  stood  for  the  future.  Until  death 
the  future  persists  in  full  strength,  whatever 
limitations  are  put  around  it. 

Bud  stooped  and  placed  his  hands  upon  the 
girl.  Her  body  was  warm  and  the  touch  of  it 
magnetized  him.  Lifting  her  easily  he  swung  her 
upon  his  back,  her  head  and  arms  over  his  right 
shoulder.  So  for  hours  he  had  carried  burdens 
heavier  than  she.  His  provisions  and  rifle  he 
seized  in  his  left  hand.  With  long,  noiseless 
strides,  he  crossed  the  log  to  the  road,  turned  to 
the  right,  and  began  to  climb  the  rocky  trail. 

Straying  tendrils  of  the  girl's  light  hair  brushed 
his  cheeks  as  bending  forward  he  bore  her  up- 


264  BIG  LAUREL 

wards  and  away  —  away  from  the  silent  form  in 
his  yard,  away  from  the  valley  and  all  its  folks  be- 
low, away  from  the  invisible  hand  of  the  law  which 
would  soon  be  reaching  for  him.  And  with  that 
loose  hair  against  his  rough  cheeks,  the  strength 
of  ten  men  was  in  him.  With  it  came  a  new  de- 
fiance. They  might  turn  out  the  whole  county 
after  him,  but  before  they  caught  him  he  would 
be  in  the  next  county.  They  might  turn  out  the 
whole  State  to  hound  him,  but  he  would  cross  the 
mountains  —  mountain  after  mountain  if  neces- 
sary—  until  he  reached  the  next  State.  There 
were  no  limits  to  his  horizon  now.  He  was 
anchored  by  neither  shack  nor  farm.  They  could 
take  them  both  and  be  damned,  but  they  would 
travel  far  before  they  took  him  or  his  woman. 
For  all  he  knew,  these  hills  and  this  forest  con- 
tinued indefinitely.  A  man  could  live  in  them 
indefinitely.  And  when  they  could  not  furnish 
him  with  what  he  needed,  why,  there  were  always 
settlements  where  a  man  with  a  rifle  could  secure 
what  he  wished. 

The  higher  Bud  climbed,  the  less  he  had  any 
consciousness  of  being  a  fugitive.  It  was  more  as 
though  all  his  life  he  had  been  a  prisoner  and  had 


BIG  LAUREL  265 

just  found  freedom.  His  contact  with  civiliza- 
tion had  done  nothing  but  force  upon  him  a  series 
of  inhibitions.  Some  one  was  always  interfering 
with  his  rights.  He  was  pulling  away  from  all 
that. 

Where  a  small  stream  crossed  the  road,  he 
turned  sharp  left  into  the  woods.  He  was  becom- 
ing impatient  even  with  man-made  paths.  He 
followed  the  edge  of  the  cut  made  by  the  running 
water,  forcing  his  way  through  the  bushes,  sweep- 
ing aside  the  growth  ahead  of  him  with  his  long 
arm.  Not  a  twig  touched  her  face.  Not  a  branch 
whipped  her  body. 

He  was  well  out  of  the  beaten  track  before  any 
sign  of  consciousness  began  to  return  to  the  girl. 
The  first  indication  she  gave  was  something  like 
a  sigh  and  a  feeble  attempt  to  raise  her  head.  Her 
eyes  even  then  remained  closed.  And  she  made 
no  struggle.  But  at  once  Bud  lowered  her  to  the 
leaf-strewn  ground  and  went  to  the  brook  for 
water.  Scooping  up  as  much  as  his  cupped  hands 
would  hold  he  returned  and  moistened  her  lips 
and  bathed  her  forehead.  The  effect  came  quicker 
than  he  anticipated.  Her  eyes  opened  wide  and 
she  struggled  to  her  elbow. 


266  BIG  LAUREL 

"  Hit 's  only  me,  Roxie,"  he  said  gently. 

It  was  only  he.  And  as  he  spoke  the  words 
they  were  tempered  with  love.  Through  his  steel- 
gray  eyes  there  shone  something  of  the  gentle  blue 
of  the  sky  peering  through  the  upper  branches 
of  the  trees.  It  was  only  he.  Big  and  brutal  and 
coarse-featured  and  merciless  as  he  was,  there 
was  the  tenderness  of  a  woman  in  his  touch.  Be- 
fore her  it  was  only  he  —  only  Bud.  And  had 
there  been  need  he  would  have  held  out  his  right 
arm  and  drained  into  her  veins  every  drop  of  his 
blood. 

"  I  don't  aim  ter  bother  yuh,"  he  went  on  as  she 
remained  dumb.  "Hit's  only  me." 

Big-eyed,  half  fearing  what  she  would  find, 
Roxie  was  fumbling  around  among  her  confused 
thoughts  trying  to  account  for  her  presence  here. 
Bud  Childers  —  he  had  come  to  the  bungalow  for 
her.  She  had  gone  with  him.  Then  Allston  —  the 
night  —  the  dawn  —  the  crack  of  a  rifle!  Weakly 
she  sank  back,  throwing  her  arm  over  her  eyes 
as  though  to  shut  out  some  terrible  sight.  For  a 
moment  she  almost  fell  back  into  a  pit  of  dark- 
ness. Allston  had  fallen.  She  had  seen  him  fall. 
She  had  started  to  his  side,  and  then  —  and 
then  — 


BIG  LAUREL  267 

She  scrambled  to  her  knees  staring  in  terror  at 
the  man  before  her. 

"Whar's  Mister  Allston?"  she  panted. 

Bud's  face  grew  dark. 

"  Over  thar,"  he  answered  grimly  with  a  nod 
back  of  his  head  down  the  mountain. 

"You  —  you  shot  him!  You  —  you  killed 
him! "  she  cried. 

"  Well  f  "  he  drawled  vaguely. 

Still  on  her  knees  she  began  to  crawl  away 
from  the  man. 

You  —  you  devil!"  she  choked. 
He  come  up  thar  and  no  one  axed  him,"  he 
said. 

"And  you  killed  him  —  a-hidin'  behin'  the 
spring-house  like  a  yaller  dawg,  you  killed  a 
man!" 

There  was  the  cut  of  a  knife  in  every  word  she 
spoke.  He  winced,  but  his  lips  grew  thin  and 
hard.  And  all  the  blue  vanished  from  the  gray 
eyes. 

"Tears  like  yo're  takin'  et  kinder  hard  —  him 
a  furriner." 

As  he  spoke  his  eyes  narrowed  until  his  bushy 
brows  almost  met. 


u 


a 


268  BIG  LAUREL 

"Him  a  furrlner,"  he  repeated  in  a  voice  that 
was  Hke  the  low  growl  of  a  mountain  cat. 

"Him  a  man!^''  burst  out  Roxie. 

"It  was  him  er  me,"  said  Bud.  "An'  I  didn' 
go  atter  him.  He  come  up  hyar." 

"He  come  up  hyar,"  nodded  Roxie  with  a 
quick,  gasping  intake  of  breath.  "  He  come  up 
hyar.  You  wanter  know  how  he  come  to  come 
up  hyar,  Bud  Childers  t  It  was  'cause  he  keered 
more  'bout  me  than  he  keered  'bout  hisself. 
Thet  's  the  truth,  Bud  Childers,  ef  yuh  want  the 
truth.  Thet 's  the  kind  o'  man  he  was." 

"An'  you  —  you  keered  'bout  him?" 

She  lifted  her  face  at  that  —  lifted  it  and  met 
Bud  eye  to  eye: 

"Keered?"  she  choked.  "Keered?  Oh,  my 
Gawd ! " 

With  that  her  head  began  to  sink,  her  lips  to 
quiver,  and  though  she  fought  hard  she  could  no 
longer  control  the  tears.  Her  hands  before  her 
face  she  bowed  low,  racked  by  sobs  that  shook  her 
to  the  depths. 

With  his  rifle  across  his  knees  Bud  sat  down 
and  watched  her.  He  removed  his  old  black  hat 
and  ran  his  hand  across  his  perspiring  forehead 
—  slowly  as  though  in  bewilderment. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  MAN  may  look  dead,  and  yet  by  no  means  be 
dead ;  a  man  may  be  very  close  to  the  borderland 
of  death,  and  yet,  if  he  has  not  actually  crossed, 
may  be  dragged  back  by  the  strong  hands  of  love. 
Bud  Childers's  bullet  had  not  found  Allston's 
heart.  The  shot  had  gone  high  and  a  little  wild. 
Striking  to  the  right  of  his  head,  it  had  cut  a  gash 
across  his  temple  —  a  gash  which  had  been 
covered  as  he  fell.  But  the  impact  of  the  bullet 
against  his  skull  had  stunned  him  and  dropped 
him  in  his  tracks.  That  was  his  good  fortune,  for 
otherw^ise  a  second  shot,  better  directed,  would 
most  certainly  have  followed. 

Allston  had  fallen.  The  curtain  had  been  rung 
down.  For  all  he  knew  it  was  final.  And  yet  in 
the  course  of  time  the  curtain  began  to  rise  again. 
Light  —  the  emblem  of  life  —  filtered  through  his 
eyes  and  made  itself  a  conscious  fact  in  his  half- 
paralyzed  brain.  That  was  all  he  was  aware  of  at 
first  —  just  light;  a  pale,  cold  light  like  that  of 
dawn.    It  was   quite   meaningless   and  without 


!27o  BIG  LAUREL 

warmth.  It  roused  no  emotions  in  him;  little 
interest.   It  just  was;  nothing  more. 

Yet  because  it  was,  it  indicated  life.  It  stood 
for  continuation  instead  of  the  end.  It  meant 
another  day.  It  meant  being.  It  meant  — 

Something  more  was  trying  to  get  through  to 
that  numbed  brain  of  his.  Another  sense  was 
fluttering  to  life  —  sound.  He  heard  a  far-off 
noise.  Then,  it  seemed  close  to  his  ear.  It  was 
whispering  a  familiar  name.  It  was  his  name. 

"  Ned,"  he  heard.  And  then  once  more,  "  Ned." 

It  roused  him  to  eflfort.  He  tried  to  move  his 
arm.  Quickly  following  this,  he  began  to  feel ; 
something  warm  was  resting  on  his  forehead 
smoothing  back  his  hair.  Something  still  warmer 
brushed  his  cold  lips.  Then,  like  a  film  unfold- 
ing its  secrets  in  a  dark  room,  his  mind  began  to 
clear.  Objects  became  more  concrete.  They  stood 
for  something.  This  was  a  woman  bending  over 
him.  Still  somewhat  hazy  he  tried  to  raise  his 
head.  As  he  did  so  he  heard  a  sharp  cry.  The 
ugly  wound  stood  revealed. 

"Ned,"  came  the  trembling  voice.  "Lie  still. 
I  —  I  must  get  water." 

Then  he  knew.  That  was  Wilmer  Howe.  That 


BIG  LAUREL  271 

was  Wilmer  Howe.  They  were  in  the  cove  where 
he  had  stopped  to  iish  for  trout.  No,  there  was 
something  wrong  about  that.  This  was  a  clear- 
ing. He  rose  to  one  elbow.  His  hair  and  cheek 
felt  sticky,  and  he  put  up  his  hand.  He  brought 
it  back  crimsoned.  He  saw  the  shack  beyond  and 
the  whole  story  flashed  before  him. 

His  head  sank  to  the  ground.  He  seemed  to  be 
weak.  Bud  had  got  him  when  he  started  to  run 
from  the  door.  But  how  happened  it  that  Wilmer 
had  taken  the  place  of  Roxie.^  This  was  strange 
—  very  strange.  It  was  not  easy  to  think  about 
anything  very  long  at  a  time. 

He  heard  footsteps  running  towards  him. 
Again  he  tried  to  sit  up,  but  before  he  could  do 
that  Wilmer  was  by  his  side.  She  was  holding  a 
tin  dipper  to  his  lips.  He  drank  thirstily.  It  was 
very  refreshing — this  clear,  ice-cold  spring  water. 
She  poured  a  little  into  the  palm  of  her  hand  and 
bathed  his  forehead  and  face.  He  struggled  again 
to  sit  up  and,  with  her  help,  succeeded.  He  was 
facing  the  log  shack.  His  hand  went  back  to  his 
pocket. 

"Where  —  where 's  my  gun?  "  he  demanded. 

Wilmer  had  thought  of  themselves  as  alone. 


272  BIG  LAUREL 

Both  Bud  and  Roxie  had  been  eUminated  from 
her  thoughts.  Now  she  raised  her  eyes  and 
glanced  about. 

Allston  caught  sight  of  his  automatic  on  the 
ground  a  few  feet  away.  He  tried  to  reach  it  and 
'failed.  Following  his  outstretched  arm,  she  saw  it 
too,  and,  picking  it  up  gingerly,  handed  it  to  him. 
The  feel  of  it  in  his  fingers  roused  him  to  action 
in  spite  of  his  weakness.  He  squinted  towards 
the  shack. 

"Lord!"  he  said.  "You  shouldn't  be  here, 
Wilmer.  Childers  may  —  may  be  in  there.  He 
may  be  in  the  woods." 

He  wanted  to  make  his  feet  now.  He  tried  and 
failed. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  my  darned  legs  ? " 
he  stammered  petulantly. 

"  You  Ve  been  hurt,"  she  explained  gently. 
"Please  —  please  to  sit  still." 

"But  that  devil  —  it  isn't  safe  for  you  here,  I 
tell  you." 

"You  think  he  may  be  inside?'* 

"He  might  be.  Where's  Roxie?" 

"I  —  I  have  n't  seen  any  one  but  —  but  you." 

"Then  —  can't  you  help  me  stand  up?  " 


BIG  LAUREL  273 

"  It 's  better  for  you  not  to  move." 

"  I  've  got  to  get  in  there  and  —  find  out." 

The  girl's  face  was  very  white  and  tense.  She 
was  kneeling  by  his  side,  but  she  suddenly  rose. 
Then  she  took  the  gun  from  his  weak  fingers. 

"  I  '11  see !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Before  he  could  catch  her  skirts  she  was  mov- 
ing across  the  few  yards  of  clear  space  to  the 
door.  He  called  after  her.  With  every  ounce  of 
strength  left  in  him  he  tried  to  follow,  but 
apparently  he  had  lost  a  good  deal  of  blood.  His 
legs  were  like  limp  straws.  Helpless  he  saw  her 
disappear  through  the  door.  She  was  not  gone 
long,  but  it  seemed  an  eternity  before  she  came 
out  again. 

*^The  house  is  empty,"  she  said. 

"Thank  God.  If  it  hadn't  been  —  " 

"But  it  is.  And  if  —  can  you  get  across  there, 
leaning  on  me.^ " 

The  color  was  returning  to  his  cheeks ;  the  light 
to  his  eyes. 

"Leaning  on  you,"  he  repeated  slowly,  "I  — 
I  think  I  could  get  anywhere." 

"Then  —  " 

She  bent  down  and  placed  an  arm  beneath  his 


274  BIG  LAUREL 

shoulder.  As  he  moved  she  lifted  and  so  got  him, 
tottering,  to  his  feet.  He  stood  so  for  a  moment 
with  his  arm  over  her  frail  shoulder.  He  did  not 
seem  to  wish  to  move  farther. 

"  I  can  build  a  fire,"  she  ran  on.  "  It 's  cold  out 
here.  You  can  walk  a  little  ?  " 

Then  he  said,  as  though  to  himself: 

"You  oughtn't  to  be  here." 

He  tried  to  keep  his  weight  from  her  as  much 
as  possible,  but  actually  he  did  lean  heavily. 
Even  so  her  shoulders  did  not  sag.  Frail  they 
looked  —  fit  only  for  the  burden  of  lace  shawls 
—  but  they  did  not  sag.  His  left  arm  was  over 
them  and  her  right  arm  around  his  waist  sup- 
porting him.  He  felt  the  tight,  steady  grip  of  it. 
Even  w^hen  he  paused,  this  did  not  relax. 

So  he  came  back  over  that  threshold  which  so 
brief  a  time  ago  he  had  crossed  in  the  other  di- 
rection; so  he  came  back  into  that  room  where 
he  had  waited  through  the  night.  There  was  the 
corner  where  he  had  sat  with  Roxie.  The 
tumbled  blankets  still  lay  on  the  floor.  They 
cried  out  to  him.  They  brought  her  name  to  his 
lips. 

"Where's  Roxie.?" 


BIG  LAUREL  275 

"Steady,"  Wilmer  answered.  "Steady  until 
we  get  to  the  chair." 

She  led  him  to  a  chair  before  the  dead  hearth. 
He  slumped  down  wearily. 

"  She 's  gone,"  he  said.  "  Bud  must  have  got 
her." 

"  She  was  here,  then  ?  " 

"Here  with  Bud  Childers." 

"But  why—" 

"Because  the  brute  bullied  her  into  coming. 
He  threatened  to  get  me  —  if  she  didn't  come." 

" Oh !"  she  cried.  "And  then?" 

"I  got  him.  I  had  him  fair  —  tied  hand  and 
foot.  But  the  beggar  squirmed  loose." 

"And  then?" 

"Roxie  wouldn't  leave  for  fear  of  him." 

"  Then  ? " 

"I  took  a  chance  —  this  morning.  He  was 
waiting  behind  the  spring-house." 

She  shuddered  at  that. 

"But  she  —  she  may  have  escaped." 

"Yes.  Only  —  women  are  queer,"  he  answered 
in  a  voice  scarcely  audible. 

Wilmer  turned  her  head  and  smiled  a  little  — 
to  herself.   Roxie  was  gone  and  Bud  was  gone. 


276  BIG  LAUREL 

But  she  was  here  and  Ned  Allston  was  here.  And 
he  was  helpless  —  helpless  enough  to  be  depend- 
ent on  her.  Much  of  her  fear  had  vanished.  It 
was  evident  now  that  his  wound,  however  pain- 
ful, was  not  serious.  The  thing  to  do  was  to  make 
him  warm  and  comfortable  until  help  arrived. 
That  gave  her  an  hour  —  perhaps  two  hours. 

She  started  towards  the  door.  His  eyes  were 
upon  her. 

"  Where  you  going .? "  he  demanded. 

"I  must  kindle  a  iire." 

He  staggered  to  his  feet. 

"That's  my  job,"  he  said. 

She  hurried  to  his  chair. 

"You'd  help  most  if  you'd  sit  still,"  she  an- 
swered. "  You  only  interrupt." 

She  waited  until  he  reseated  himself. 

"  I  don't  seem  to  have  much  strength,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

"And  I  have  more  than  I  ever  had,"  she  an- 
swered. "  So  you  see  it  ought  to  be  my  job." 

Women  are  queer,  Allston  had  said.  That  is  a 
very  loose  and  very  general  statement,  but  there 
may  be  something  in  it.  At  any  rate,  it  served 
as  an  explanation,  as  good  as  any,  perhaps,  of 


BIG  LAUREL  277 

why  Wilmer  found  the  unfamiliar  tasks  she  now 
went  about  not  only  congenial,  but  distinctly  ex- 
hilarating—  even  mentally  stimulating.  If  she 
had  ever  kindled  a  fire,  it  was  so  long  ago  she  had 
forgotten  about  it.  And  she  would  have  been  in- 
clined to  argue  that  it  was  so  humbly  simple  an 
act  that  it  was  not  worth  remembering,  anyway. 
It  made  no  heavy  call  upon  the  intellect.  In  and 
of  itself  it  was  a  trivial  duty. 

And  yet,  as  she  went  to  look  for  wood,  she 
felt  a  pride  in  her  mission  out  of  all  proportion 
to  the  effort.  She  was  to  build  a  fire  —  for  him. 
She  must  make  him  warm.  She  must  heat  water 
and  bathe  his  wound.  If  she  could  find  provi- 
sions in  the  shack,  she  must  prepare  something 
for  him  to  eat  —  if  only  a  cup  of  tea  or  coffee.  She 
must  build  up  his  strength. 

His  strength  —  the  strength  of  the  man  she 
loved.  She  must  give  him  some  of  her  own 
strength  and  in  this  indirect  way  alone  was  that 
at  the  moment  possible.  It  was  too  indirect  to 
satisfy  her  —  too  simple.  Could  she  have  opened 
her  veins  into  his  veins,  that  would  have  seemed 
too  simple.  Perhaps  this  new  need  could  never 
be  satisfied  by  any  one  act — only  by  a  succes- 


278  BIG  LAUREL 

sion  of  acts  extending  without  limit  through  his 
life.  It  was  as  big  as  that. 

But  at  any  rate  here  was  something  —  some- 
thing definite  and  tangible  calling  for  effort  if 
only  the  picking  up  of  chips.  The  very  simplic- 
ity of  the  task  hallowed  it.  The  disciples  grasped 
eagerly  at  the  opportunity  to  express  their  great 
love  through  the  anointing  of  His  feet. 

In  the  rear  of  the  shack  Wilmer  found  a  wood- 
pile and  a  dulled  and  rusty  axe.  Picking  up  this, 
she  battered  away  at  some  of  the  driest  pine  until 
she  had  broken  it  into  splinters.  She  was  sur- 
prised at  the  power  in  her  arms  and  back.  She 
had  never  handled  anything  as  heavy  as  this  axe 
in  her  life,  and  yet  she  raised  it  easily  and 
brought  it  down  upon  the  stubborn  dried  limbs 
with  sufficient  force  to  accomplish  her  object. 
They  broke  in  spite  of  their  resistance.  There  is 
always  satisfaction  in  victory  even  in  so  primi- 
tive a  conflict  as  this.  But  back  of  this  there  was 
more;  she  was  doing  this  for  her  man,  even  as 
Roxie  might  have  done.  She  was  using  her 
muscles  and  hands  for  him.  She  was  catering 
to  his  well-being  and  comfort. 

With  cheeks  grown  crimson  by  the  effort,  she 


BIG  LAUREL  279 

stopped  and  gathered  an  armful  of  the  splinters, 
hugging  them  close  to  her  bosom,  careless  of  what 
they  did  to  her  gown.  Clothes  had  become  unim- 
portant—  as  unimportant  as  the  appearance  of 
her  hands  and  hair.  She  was  not  concerned  with 
how  she  looked,  but  wholly  with  what  she  had  to 
do.  If  her  long,  tense  walk  up  here  had  tired  her, 
she  did  not  feel  it.  She  came  back  through  the 
door  proudly,  smiling  over  her  load. 

"Lordy!"  exclaimed  Allston.  "But  you 
shouldn't  be  doing  that.  You  make  me  feel  like 
a  limp  cad." 

She  lowered  her  burden  to  the  side  of  the 
hearth.  Then  dropping  to  her  knees  she  picked 
out  the  smaller  pieces  and  piled  them  criss-cross 
in  the  ashes,  adding  larger  pieces  on  top. 

Allston  watched  her,  fascinated,  in  spite  of  his 
discomfort.  She  may  have  looked  at  odd  times 
more  beautiful  than  now,  but  never  since  he  had 
known  her.  For  all  her  beauty  was  of  herself. 
Her  hair,  brown  and  silken,  was  unaided  by  deft 
fingers.  It  was  so  loosely  fastened  that  it  seemed 
as  though  at  any  moment  it  might  fall  over  her 
shoulders.  He  hoped  and  prayed  that  it  might. 
He  wished  to  see  it  so  —  all  of  it  in  its  full  glory. 


28o  BIG  LAUREL 

Had  he  been  a  little  nearer  he  would  have  been 
tempted  to  touch  it  with  his  fingers. 

Her  fine  features  were  quite  unrestrained. 
They  were  subject  to  no  conscious  control.  And 
so  tney  appeared  softened  to  the  point  of  ten- 
derness. Her  face  was  half  turned  from  him,  but 
he  saw  an  expression  about  her  mouth  of  glad- 
ness, of  eager,  childlike  interest.  Innocent  as  it 
was,  it  bred  wild  thoughts  in  him.  He  wanted 
those  lips  nearer.  He  wanted  them  within  reach 
of  his  own  lips.  And  yet,  before  he  would  have 
leaned  forward  one  inch  towards  them,  he  would 
have  stopped  himself  with  his  own  automatic. 
The  wonder  of  her;  but  the  sacredness  of  her! 

She  turned  with  outstretched  hand. 

"You  have  a  match .f^"  she  asked. 

That  was  the  most  he  could  give  her  —  a 
match.  He  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  found  one,  and 
extended  his  own  hand  towards  her.  It  was  not 
as  steady  as  it  should  have  been.  It  was  still  less 
steady  as  in  taking  it  the  tips  of  her  fingers 
touched  him.  There  were  kisses  in  them.  He  held 
his  breath.  If  only  that  match  went  out  so  that 
he  could  hand  her  another. 

But  she  was  very  careful.  She  nursed  the  tiny 


BIG  LAUREL  281 

flame  until  it  burned  steadily  and  then  applied 
it  to  the  smaller  twigs.  They  caught  fire  and 
licked  up  to  the  larger  twigs ;  sprang  from  those 
to  the  dry  splinters  until  no  shadow  of  hope  was 
left  him.  The  hearth  came  to  life  like  a  roused 
sleeper.  He  felt  the  heat  at  once.  It  was  welcome. 

And  she  held  out  her  hands  towards  the  danc- 
ing golden  flames.  She  had  taken  the  first  step 
towards  making  this  room  habitable;  the  first 
step  towards  making  it  a  home.  She  had  brought 
into  it  heat  and  light. 

With  glowing  face  she  turned  towards  Allston. 

"A  fire  is  such  a  friendly  thing,"  she  exclaimed. 

"That  fire  represents  more  than  friendship," 
he  answered. 

She  did  not  take  up  the  argument.  She  was  not 
interested  in  words.  She  had  still  a  great  many 
things  to  do. 

She  went  out  into  Bud's  kitchen  to  forage.  She 
did  not  discover  much,  but  she  did  find  a  little 
coffee  in  the  bottom  of  a  can,  and  sugar  and  half 
a  loaf  of  dry  bread.  That  was  enough.  It  was 
food  and  hot  drink. 

There  was  no  coffee-pot,  for  Bud  had  carried 
that  off  with  him,  but  she  found  a  couple  of  tins 


282  BIG  LAUREL 

that  were  whole  and  clean.  She  brought  her 
treasures  back  and  laid  them  at  his  feet. 

"Here's  a  bit  of  luek,"  she  said. 

Every  time  she  spoke,  her  words  seemed  curi- 
ously inadequate  to  Allston.  This  was  not  a  bit 
of  luck,  but  stupendous  good  fortune.  To  drink 
coffee  of  her  brewing  and  eat  bread  of  her  finding 
promised  a  meal  to  be  remembered.  It  was  an 
event  worth  all  it  had  cost.  It  was  going  to  keep 
her  busy  near  him  for  the  next  half-hour. 

She  made  another  journey  to  the  spring-house 
and  filled  her  pails.  She  brought  them  back  and 
placed  them  close  to  the  flames  near  the  dog- 
irons.  She  piled  on  more  wood  and  bade  him 
see  that  the  water  did  not  boll  over. 

"  I  must  find  some  clean  linen  if  there  is  any. 
That  cut—" 

He  had  almost  forgotten  about  the  cut.  It  had 
ceased  bleeding,  but  it  was  a  matted  ugly  blotch 
on  his  head. 

"It  can  wait,  can't  it,  until  I  get  to  the  doc- 
tor.?" 

"  No,"  she  replied. 

Where  she  secured  the  clean  white  strips  of 
cotton  with  which  she  returned,  Allston  never 


BIG  LAUREL  283 

knew.  The  torn  hem  of  a  ruffled  petticoat  left 
behind  in  the  bedroom  might  have  told  him  had 
he  ever  seen  it.  But  he  never  did.  He  began  to 
question  her,  but  some  instinct  warned  him  that 
this  evidently  was  none  of  his  business. 

He  did  not  seem  to  have  much  business  of  any 
sort  here  now.  He  found  himself  a  good  deal  un- 
der orders  —  gentle  orders,  to  be  sure,  but  none 
the  less  to  be  regarded  seriously.  And,  as  he  re- 
membered, this  was  one  of  the  things  he  had 
looked  forward  to  escaping  just  as  soon  as  he  left 
the  army.  He  had  chafed  under  them;  —  not 
openh%  because  he  respected  the  necessity  of 
them,  but  inwardly,  because  they  went  against 
the  grain.  As  a  free-born  American  citizen  of 
Southern  ancestry  and  independent  means  he 
had,  until  the  war,  come  pretty  near  to  doing 
just  about  as  he  liked  without  dictation  of  any 
sort.  Once  he  was  out  of  kilts  no  one  had  inter- 
fered to  any  extent  with  the  management  of  his 
everyda}^  life. 

Now  this  young  woman,  approaching  him  with 
a  pail  of  lukewarm  water,  tucked  a  towel  around 
his  neck  and  commanded  him  to  lean  his  head 
back.  He  did  so  when  he  would  much  have  pre- 


2  84  BIG  LAUREL 

ferred  not.  Then  she  proceeded  to  sop  a  wet  rag 
against  the  wound  left  by  Bud  Childers's  bullet. 
It  was  distinctly  an  unpleasant  process.  It  hurt 
more  or  less,  and  the  water  trickled  down  his 
neck.  Besides,  he  felt  that  this  was  a  distasteful 
duty  which  did  not  come  within  her  province,  but 
that  of  a  surgeon.  He  offered  that  argument,  but 
she  kept  on. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  not  much  of  a  nurse,  but 
I  'm  sure  this  ought  to  be  done,"  she  said. 

"You're  a  wonderful  nurse,"  he  assured  her. 

"  I  'm  trying  not  to  hurt." 

"  It  hurts  you  more  than  it  does  me.  It 's  such 
a  messy  thing  to  bother  with." 

"  If  he  had  come  an  eighth  of  an  inch  nearer," 
she  trembled. 

"  I  'm  surprised  he  did  n't.  I  thought  he  was  a 
better  shot." 

"  Oh,  it  was  wicked  of  him !  " 

"  It  was  more  or  less  human.  You  see,  he 
didn't  understand." 

"He's  more  like  a  savage  than  a  man." 

"And  yet  it's  so  easy  for  any  of  us  to  mis- 
understand," he  said. 

She  was  still  sopping,  rinsing  frequently  the 


BIG  LAUREL  285 

carmine  from  the  rag.  It  was  coloring  the  water 
in  the  pail  like  red  pigment. 

"  He  wanted  Roxie  as  a  beast  wants  his  prey. 
But  Roxie—" 

"  Was  worth  fighting  for,"  he  broke  in. 

"Why  did  she  go  with  him?  She  could  have 
roused  the  house." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  She  could  have 
done  that  —  and  she  didn't.  Women  are  queer." 

He  had  thought  for  a  moment  that  he  could 
tell  this  woman  beside  him  the  whole  story,  but 
he  found  his  lips  sealed.  After  all  this  was  not 
his  story;  it  was  Roxie's.  It  was  of  too  sacred  a 
nature  for  him  to  reveal.  He  felt  as  though  he 
had  overheard  something  not  intended  for  his 
ears ;  the  holy  revelations  a  woman  makes  only 
to  herself.  The  part  of  a  gentleman  was  to  forget 
them;  to  treat  them  as  though  they  had  never 
been.  In  these  last  few  minutes  he  had  forgotten 
even  the  girl  herself.  He  realized  it  with  a  start. 

"  Where  is  she  t  "  he  demanded.  "  If  Childers 
took  her  off  — " 

"Even  he  couldn't  do  that  against  her  will," 
said  Wilmer.  "  Please  to  be  quiet." 

"You  think  that.?" 


286  BIG  LAUREL 

"You  don't  know  those  girls." 

"I  —  I  guess  you  're  right,"  he  admitted. 

"It's  probable  she  escaped  into  the  woods.  If 
she  didn't—" 

"  The  woods,"  he  nodded.  "  She  had  the  other 
door.  She  had  a  fair  chance  if  she  kept  her  head." 

"And  she  knew  the  man  through  and 
through." 

"The  devil!  He  gnawed  through  those  ropes 
like  a  rat." 

The  woman  by  his  side  grew  pale. 

"It's  a  miracle  you're  alive,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know." 

The  old  familiar  phrase  steadied  her  in  one 
way  and  unsteadied  her  in  another.  It  sent  her 
thoughts  back  for  a  moment  to  the  evening  be- 
fore. He  did  not  know — any  more  than  he  knew 
then.  But  she  —  how  much  she  had  come  to 
know  in  these  last  few  hours  !  And  yet  not  by  the 
slightest  token  must  she  let  him  know  that  she 
knew.  She  must  maintain  a  stricter  guard  over 
herself  than  ever  before.  She  must  be  careful  of 
her  eyes,  her  speech,  her  hands  —  especially  her 
hands.  Li^htlv  thev  caressed  the  cut  over  his 
temple,  but  only  in  the  course  of  her  duty.  And 
his  tousled  hair  was  so  near  her  now. 


BIG  LAUREL  287 

A  moment  later,  in  the  course  of  duty,  she 
found  a  better  opportunity.  She  wound  strips  of 
white  bandage  around  and  around  his  head,  her 
fingers  brushing  his  head  —  ever  so  gently,  ever 
so  lovingly,  in  the  course  of  duty. 

And  he,  sitting  very  quiet,  his  eyes  closed,  felt 
them  like  kisses  —  ashamed  at  the  thought.  He 
did  not  know.  Lord !  he  did  not  know  even  then 
—  and  might  never  know. 

The  coffee  began  to  boil.  She  left  his  side 
and  poured  some  of  the  hot  brew  into  a  tin  dip- 
per and  ordered  him  to  drink  it.  After  the  first 
sip  it  is  doubtful  if  he  would  have  drunk  it  ex- 
cept under  orders.  She  had  sweetened  it  liberally 
but  it  was  a  muddy  concoction. 

She  gave  him  bits  of  the  stale  bread  and  or- 
dered him  to  eat  them.  He  obeyed  —  as  smartly 
as  though  it  were  an  order  of  the  day. 

Quite  without  resentment,  too. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  join  me? "  he  asked. 

She  tried  a  little  of  the  coffee  and  made  up  a 
wry  face. 

"  It  is  n't  very  nice,"  she  admitted. 

He  was  about  to  agree  with  that  when  she 
added  quickly: 


288  BIG  LAUREL 


"But  it's  good  for  you." 

So  he  took  his  medicine  —  to  the  last  drop. 

Up  to  this  time  she  had  been  very  busy.  Now, 
after  going  out  and  getting  another  armful  of 
wood,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 
He  w^as  too  weak  to  walk  and  she  did  not  dare 
to  leave  him  even  long  enough  to  go  back  for  help 
to  one  of  those  neighboring  houses  she  had 
passed  below. 

She  had  to  wait  —  facing  him.  That  is  a  diffi- 
cult task  —  when  one  has  a  secret  trembling  in 
the  eyes,  on  the  lips,  and  on  the  tips  of  the  fingers. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

Bud  had  never  heard  a  woman  cry  as  Roxie  cried. 
He  had  heard  them  whine  and  heard  them  lament 
and  seen  their  faces  grow  stolid  with  grief,  but 
that  was  all  in  the  day's  w^ork.  He  was  always 
able  to  pass  on  and  forget.  It  was  no  affair  of 
his,  and  women  were  doomed  to  a  certain  amount 
of  that  sort  of  thing. 

But  this  time  the  sobs  got  under  his  thick, 
leathery  skin.  They  pierced  still  deeper  —  into  the 
core  of  him,  into  the  heart  of  him.  His  eyes 
upon  her  sagging  form;  upon  the  hair  which  so 
lately  had  been  blown  across  his  cheek  as  he  bore 
her  away,  insensible,  over  his  shoulder;  upon 
the  small  hands  crowded  against  her  face ;  he  felt 
an  ache  that  was  like  the  ague.  And  yet  there  was 
a  significant  difference.  The  pains  of  the  fever 
were  personal.  They  concerned  him  and  his  own 
body.  But  now  he  w^as  hurt  not  because  of  him- 
self, but  because  she  was  hurt  —  this  other. 

That  was  difficult  to  understand.  The  more 
so  because,  in  reality,  he  had  his  own  grievous 
wound.    She  was  crying  because  he  had  killed 


290  BIG  LAUREL 

that  pink-cheeked  furriner  —  crying  because  she 
had  cared  for  the  man.  For  a  moment  that  mem- 
ory did  serve  to  harden  him,  but  —  she  kept  on 
crying.  She  was  hurt.  There  was  no  pretense 
about  it.  She  was  suffering  like  a  wounded  pet. 
The  cause  of  her  grief  did  not  matter. 

Bud's  heart  went  out  to  her  as  it  never  had  to 
any  other  living  thing.  Dropping  his  rifle  to  the 
ground  he  rose. 

"  Roxie,"  he  faltered,  "  don'  take  on  like  thet." 

She  did  not  move.  She  gave  no  indication  that 
she  heard.  He  took  a  step  nearer,  his  long  arms 
hanging  loosely  by  his  side ;  his  face  troubled. 

"  I  'm  a-talkin'  to  yuh,  Roxie,"  he  said. 

There  was,  in  his  voice,  the  deep  tenderness  of 
a  lover  and  of  a  father,  too.  Huddled  in  a  heap 
as  she  was,  she  looked  such  a  tiny  body.  He  could 
have  picked  her  up  without  effort.  And  he  ached 
to  do  just  that  —  to  pick  her  up  and  hold  her 
close.  He  felt  that  so  he  could  shield  her  from 
harm. 

Because  she  did  not  protest,  he  ventured  still 
nearer.  He  was  at  her  side  now,  still  standing 
erect. 

"  Gawd !  "  he  said,  "  Gawd,  how  I  love  yuh !  " 


BIG  LAUREL  291 

At  that  Roxie  sprang  —  upright  and  sideways 
towards  Bud's  rifle.  But  Bud  was  there  before 
her.  He  moved  instinctively.  That  gun  was  as 
much  a  part  of  him  as  his  right  hand.  He 
snatched  it  from  the  ground,  and  as  he  did  so  the 
girl  recoiled. 

The  two  faced  each  other  again ;  Roxie  shrink- 
ing away  in  fear  at  the  revenge  he  might  take 
for  this  attempt,  Bud  feeling  more  helpless  with 
the  rifle  in  his  hands  than  without  it. 

She  had  tried  to  get  the  gun.  If  she  had  suc- 
ceeded, she  would  have  killed  him.  She  hated 
him  as  fiercely  as  that.  A  woman  is  not  often 
tempted  to  kill,  but  when  she  is  so  tempted  she 
is  dangerous.  And  yet  the  realization  of  this 
hatred,  instead  of  rousing  him  to  aggressive  ac- 
tion, instead  of  urging  him  to  retaliation  as  or- 
dinarily it  would,  had  quite  the  opposite  eff"ect. 
It  took  all  the  spirit  out  of  him  —  all  his  courage 
and  high  hopes.  His  arms  grew  limp.  The  hills 
about  him,  instead  of  offering  protection, 
hemmed  him  in  like  prison  walls.  No  use  now  in 
climbing  them  or  crossing  with  her  to  the  val- 
leys beyond.  With  her  ready  to  spring  upon  him, 
whether  he  was  there  or  here  made  little  differ- 


292  BIG  LAUREL 

ence.  Whether  he  was  here  or  anywhere  made 
no  difference  now. 

An  overpowering  sense  of  helplessness  pressed 
down  upon  him.  Never  before  had  he  faced  a 
situation,  however  desperate,  where  he  could  not 
find  relief  in  physical  action.  Always  there  was 
something  to  break  through  or  down;  always 
there  was  a  shooting  chance.  But  here  there  was 
nothing  to  strike ;  nothing  over  which  a  rifle  bul- 
let had  any  control.  He  could  still  carry  her  off^, 
to  be  sure,  but  what  would  he  be  carrying?  Just 
the  shell  of  her,  and  this  love  of  his  was  genuine 
enough  to  turn  away  from  that.  He  wanted  more, 
but  the  more  that  he  wanted  could  not  be  taken. 
He  could  have  it  only  as  it  was  given.  And  no 
man  can  force  a  gift. 

Here  was  an  idea  new  to  Bud  Childers ;  all 
that  a  woman  has  of  love  worth  while  must  come 
to  a  man  as  a  gift.  Love  is  not  anything  to  be 
seized  with  the  hands.  It  is  not  the  flower;  it  is 
the  perfume  of  the  flower.  It  is  not  the  hair,  the 
lips,  the  hands,  but  the  soul.  Else  one  woman 
would  be  like  another  woman  and  not  worth  the 
struggle. 

It  was  quite  useless  for  Bud  to  carry  the  girl 


BIG  LAUREL  293 

any  farther  back  Into  the  hills.  He  must  allow 
her  to  return  to  her  own.  But  after  that  —  what 
of  himself.? 

Bud's  eyes  wandered  a  moment  —  from  the 
frightened  girl  to  the  heavy  forest  growth  sur- 
rounding her.  The  trees  had  always  been  his 
friends.  He  had  played  among  them  as  a  child, 
hunted  among  them  as  a  boy,  and  lived  among 
them  as  a  man.  They  had  furnished  him  a  home, 
food,  protection,  and  companionship.  But  they 
failed  him  now.  They  offered  no  encouragement. 
They  remained  as  blank  and  as  dumb  as  so  many 
trees.  They  turned  to  Roxie  rather  than  to  him. 
Perhaps  this  was  in  revenge  for  the  axe  he  had 
driven  deep  into  the  heart  of  so  many  of  their 
fellows. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  a  squirrel  frolicking 
among  the  branches  —  a  red  boomer  who  chat- 
tered saucily  in  his  face.  He  raised  his  eyes  to 
the  sky  and  the  sky  gave  him  no  answer. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  deep  and  awful  sense 
of  desolation  —  as  though  he  had  suddenly  been 
abandoned  by  all  creation.  He  was  n't  much  on 
religion,  but  there  was  something  of  religion  in 
his    feeling.    Gawd    A'mighty   was    getting    his 


294  BIG  LAUREL 

revenge.  He  was  alone  as  he  had  never  been  alone 

—  alone  even  here  in  his  own  mountain  country. 
And  his  long  face  grew  haggard  at  the  thought. 

Bud  Childers  brought  his  eyes  back  to  Roxie. 
He  found  her  still  watching  him  —  suspiciously, 
alertly.  Her  eyes  stabbed  like  knives.  He  could 
bear  it  no  longer.  With  a  suppressed  cry,  he 
tossed  the  gun  to  her  feet. 

"  Shoot  ef  yuh  want !  "  he  cried.  "  Shoot  an' 
hev  done  with  hit." 

The  girl  picked  up  the  rifle.  She  held  the  butt 
firmly  against  her  shoulder  and  covered  him. 
And,  instead  of  quailing,  she  saw  him  stand  a 
little  more  erect,  his  eyes  full  upon  her.  With 
her  finger  upon  the  trigger  she  sighted  along  the 
barrel  to  the  left  of  his  broad,  exposed  chest.  She 
had  only  to  bend  that  finger  ever  so  little  and 
Allston  stood  revenged.  This  was  no  more  than 
simple  justice.  She  repeated  that  word  to  herself 

—  justice  —  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  gray  of 
Bud's  eves.  The  man  did  not  flinch.  He  was 
holding  himself  taut,  ready  to  receive  the  blow, 
but  he  did  not  flinch. 

His  eyes  were  gray,  but  there  was  blue  in  them. 
They  were  gray,  but  there  was  light  in  them. 


BIG  LAUREL  295 

They  were  gray,  but  back  of  them  there  was  the 
magic  of  the  dawn.  It  was  as  though  something 
was  a-borning  there.  Something  a-borning  to 
which  her  mother  heart,  willy-nilly,  responded. 
She  tried  to  fight  off  the  emotion,  but  her  trigger 
linger  weakened.  She  tried  still  to  fight  it  off,  but 
her  extended  arms  began  to  wobble.  She  lowered 
the  rifle. 

"Bud  Childers,"  she  said,  "you  knowed  I 
could  n'  do  thet.  You  knowed  I  could  n'  kill." 

"  I  reckoned  you  'd  kill  me  ef  yuh  hed  the 
chanst,"  he  replied  seriously. 

"  You  're  speakin'  honest  ?  " 

"  I  reckoned  yuh  would." 

Her  mind  was  working  quickly.  She  did  not 
fully  believe  yet  that  any  such  change  of  heart 
had  come  over  him.  She  was  half  ashamed  to 
believe  it.  It  was  not  like  Bud  to  give  up  in  this 
wise.  He  was  depending  upon  her  weakness.  But 
there  was  one  way  to  test  him  —  one  way  that 
would  prove  conclusively  if  the  man  meant  what 
he  said  or  not. 

"  Bud  Childers,"  she  called,  "  hit  ain't  fer  me 
to  hand  out  justice,  but  thar's  them  thet  will. 
An'  ef  yo're  hones'  ye '11  walk  back  to  th'  valley 
an'  pay  like  a  man  fer  what  yuh  done." 


296  BIG  LAUREL 

A  rifle  bullet  would  have  been  merciful  in  com- 
parison with  those  words.  Bud  staggered  back 
a  little  —  just  a  very  little.  He  recovered  quickly. 
Everything  in  his  nature  —  everything  there  up 
to  a  few  minutes  ago  —  rebelled  at  the  suggestion. 
The  world  swam  about  him.  And  yet  here  was  a 
direct  challenge  —  a  challenge  flung  in  his  face. 
The  eyes  before  him  were  even  now,  at  this  hesi- 
tancy, filling  with  mocking  laughter.  The  lips 
were  curling  in  scorn. 

"  You  —  you  ax  me  to  do  thet  ?  "  he  faltered. 

"  I  dare  yuh  to  do  thet,"  she  answered. 

He  turned  on  his  heels  and  led  the  way  back 
to  the  mountain  road. 

Roxie  followed  the  tall,  stooping  figure  as 
though  in  a  dream.  She  was  not  convinced  even 
now  that  he  intended  to  fulfill  any  such  purpose. 
Yet  without  faltering  he  led  the  way  through  the 
bushes  and  out  into  the  road,  pausing  to  wait  for 
her  when  his  long  stride  took  him  too  far  ahead. 
And  more  than  once  she  found  her  own  steps 
lagging.  She  was  urging  this  man  to  his  death 
and  he  was  going  willingly.  Never  once  did  he 
give  any  sign  of  weakening.  She  watched  his  big 
muscular  body  as  it  swung  along  the  road  in 


BIG  LAUREL  297 

front  of  her  —  watched  it  with  a  feeling  of  awe. 
It  was  so  expressive  of  life  —  so  vibrant  with 
energy.  It  did  not  seem  right  to  kill  anything 
like  that  —  even  in  the  name  of  justice.  Yet 
Allston,  too,  had  been  vibrant  with  life,  and 
then  — 

The  memory  hardened  her  young  face.  She 
grasped  the  rifle  firmly  and  followed  more 
rapidly. 

They  were  nearing  the  shack.  It  was  a  ques- 
tion of  only  a  few  more  minutes  and  this  issue 
would  be  taken  out  of  her  hands  forever.  How 
long  it  was  she  had  been  gone  she  did  not  know, 
but  it  seemed  like  hours.  The  chances  were  that 
by  now  the  searchers  were  up  here.  At  every 
turn  of  the  winding  road  she  half  expected  to  see 
a  challenging  figure.  She  peered  ahead  shrink- 
ingly.  But  Bud  never  even  glanced  up.  He 
plodded  on  like  one  in  a  dream. 

She  paused  once  —  deliberately.  Perhaps,  if  he 
found  himself  out  of  sight  of  her,  he  might  make 
a  dash  for  liberty.  But  his  ears  apparently  were 
alert,  because  within  three  steps  he  stopped  in  his 
turn  and  swung  to  see  what  had  become  of  her. 
So  once  again  their  eyes  met. 


298  BIG  LAUREL 

The  fool!  Why  didn't  he  take  his  chance? 
Once  around  that  httle  bend  he  could  have 
swerved  into  the  undergrowth  and  disappeared. 
Instead  of  that  he  just  stood  there  waiting.  His 
eyes  asked  nothing  of  her  —  nothing  of  any  one. 

Resting  the  butt  of  the  rifle  on  the  ground,  she 
leaned  upon  the  barrel  as  upon  a  staff. 

"  'T  ain't  fer  now,"  he  said  encouragingly. 

It  was  not  far  for  her,  but  for  him  —  it  might 
be  a  journey  without  end.  That  thing  called  law 
was  helpless  as  long  as  a  man  kept  in  the  hills, 
but  once  he  came  dovv-n  into  the  valley  it  had  the 
strength  of  a  giant.  She  remembered  stories  — 
stories  told  to  illustrate  the  might  and  majesty 
of  the  law;  of  how  certain  men  had  struggled  and 
run  and  twisted  and  turned  in  vain  in  their  at- 
tempt to  escape  the  sheriff.  And  her  sympathies 
always  had  been  with  the  man  —  as  they  were 
with  the  fox  against  the  hounds.  The  law  was 
necessary  and  should  be  respected.  She  had 
learned  that  at  the  Mission  school.  But  the  law, 
too,  was  a  vague  outside  force  —  a  foreign  force. 
More  often  than  not  it  was  associated  with  men 
from  the  county  seat  or  from  that  far-off  place 
called  Washington. 


BIG  LAUREL  299 

Bud  waited  patiently  while  she  stood  there  in 
a  tremble.  She  did  not  want  this  Thing  to  catch 
him.  She  did  not  want  him  dragged  off  and  put 
in  prison  or  possibly  killed.  She  was  a  valley  girl, 
but  these  mountains  were  part  of  her.  It  was  as 
though  she  were  surrendering  Caterpillar  Ridge. 
As  long  as  she  could  remember  she  had  associ- 
ated these  woods  with  Bud  Childers.  The  fool ! 
Why  didn't  he  run  instead  of  waiting  for  her? 

"Reckon  we'd  better  be  rackin'  erlong,"  he 
said. 

So  she  started  once  more,  and  then,  unex- 
pectedly, they  were  around  a  turn  and  in  full 
view  of  the  clearing  before  the  shack.  Her  eyes 
were  drawn  as  by  a  magnet  to  the  spot  where  she 
had  last  seen  the  crumpled  form  of  Allston.  It 
was  not  there.  Moreover,  smoke  was  coming 
from  the  cabin  chimney.  Some  one  was  here  — 
but  not  the  crowd  she  had  expected.  Not  a  soul 
was  in  sight. 

"Wanter  turn  in  thar.?"  asked  Bud. 

Roxie  caught  her  breath. 

"  Whar  is  he?  "  she  trembled. 

"  They  mought  ha'  kerried  him  inside,"  he  said 
in  a  voice  grown  dead. 


300  BIG  LAUREL 

With  that  he  went  on  again,  across  the  log 
towards  the  shack.  She  followed  close  at  his  heels, 
afraid  of  what  she  might  see.  Twice  her  hand 
v/as  almost  upon  Bud's  arm,  but  she  was  not 
sure,  even  at  this  moment,  of  what  she  ought  to 
do. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Allston  was  facing  the  door  when  the  two 
figures  came  out  of  the  road.  He  sprang  to  his 
feet  reaching  for  his  automatic.  Wilmer  was 
bending  over  the  fire. 

"What  is  it,  Ned?"  she  asked,  without  turn- 
ing. 

"  I  'm  going  outside  a  moment.  Wait  here," 
he  ordered. 

Before  she  grasped  the  full  meaning  of  his 
words,  he  was  across  the  threshold  and  in  the 
open,  his  gun  half  raised,  his  eyes  full  upon  the 
eyes  of  Bud  Childers. 

Roxie  stared  as  at  one  risen  from  the  dead. 
She  stood  transfixed.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  ban- 
daged head  which  gave  Allston  his  one  touch  of 
reality,  she  would  not  have  been  able  to  breathe 
As  it  was  she  breathed  deeply  and  slowly  and 
softly  as  before  an  apparition  which  might  van- 
ish at  a  sound.  And  her  hand,  like  a  child's, 
sought  Bud's  hand.  She  gripped  it  with  all  her 
might. 

Then  another  figure  appeared  at  the  door  — 


302  BIG  LAUREL 

the  figure  of  a  woman.  There  was  reality  enough 
about  Wilmer  Howe.  After  one  glance  she  rushed 
out  and  threw  herself  in  front  of  Allston,  reaching 
up  her  white  arms  to  his  shoulders,  shielding  him 
with  her  body.  Very  gently  Allston  tried  to  turn 
her  one  side,  but  with  a  moaning  cry  she  clung. 

"  No !  No !  No ! "  she  choked. 

Roxie  saw  Allston's  half-raised  arm  lower  and 
saw  it  sweep  around  this  woman. 

It  was  then  she  had  to  hold  herself  steady; 
then  that  she  had  to  face  the  truth  however  much 
it  hurt.  She,  after  all,  was  not  the  Princess  of  the 
fairy  story,  but  this  other.  The  book  over  which 
she  had  dreamed  was  roughly  snatched  out  of 
her  hands,  and  the  covers  closed  before  her  eyes 
—  the  story  unfinished.  And  yet  —  and  yet  per- 
haps that  was  the  way  with  fairy  stories.  Perhaps 
it  was  just  so  they  were  able  to  live  on  forever. 
Thev  stood  for  dreams  —  unfinished  dreams. 
The  Prince  himself  was  smiling.  She  winced  at 
that. 

Bud  felt  the  soft  fingers  on  his  hand  relaxing. 
It  was  not  till  then  that  he  removed  his  eyes  from 
Allston.  Suddenly  this  other  man  did  not  mat- 
ter. Once  again  he  was  alone  with  Roxie  —  alone 


BIG  LAUREL  303 

with  Roxie  in  the  hills.  And  the  mountains  round 
about  him,  instead  of  closing  in,  stood  back  to 
give  him  room  —  room  for  his  big  full  heart.  He 
was  breathing  the  air  of  a  free  man  once  more. 
The  trees  were  his  brothers.  The  birds  were  sing- 
ing —  golden  notes  in  an  air  filled  with  sifted 
fine  gold.  And  a  saucy  little  red  squirrel  chattered 
excitedly  in  a  tree  overhead. 

Bud  stooped  and  swept  the  girl  into  his  long 
arms.  Against  her  feeble  protests,  he  held  her 
tight. 

And  lo !  Roxie  found  another  stor}^-book  open 
before  her  eyes. 

Whatever  took  place  up  there  in  that  shack  by 
Big  Laurel  Cove  was  never  satisfactorily  ex- 
plained either  to  the  local  gossips  or  the  local 
authorities. 

As  Daddie  Ingram  expressed  it  to  the  group 
which  gathered  at  the  post-office : 

"Thar's  suthin'  purty  durned  quar  'bout  the 
hull  bisness." 

Perhaps  there  was.  Both  Wilmer  Howe  and 
Roxie  might  have  agreed  with  him  on  that,  and 
there  were  certain  details  that  neither  Bud  nor 


304  BIG  LAUREL 

I. 

Allston  ever  fully  understood.  It  was  queer  busi- 
ness, but  as  far  as  those  most  immediately  in- 
volved were  concerned  an  eminently  satisfactory 
business.  The  wedding  of  Bud  and  Roxie  which 
took  place  a  week  later  at  the  Howe  bungalow 
seemed  to  be  proof  of  this.  That  was  a  memorable 
event  in  the  neighborhood.  Every  one  was  invited 
and  every  one  came  and  every  one  appeared  to 
be  happy. 

"But,"  as  Daddie  Ingram  said  later,  "'co'se 
Bud  Childers  is  Bud  Childers  an'  thar  ain'  no 
gittin'  round  thet.  Roxie  '11  hev  to  watch  her  step 
livin'  'long  o'  him." 

Daddie  was  a  wise  old  owl  and  his  opinion 
carried  weight.  It  was  rather  too  bad,  then,  that 
he  could  not  have  been  present  eight  months 
later  when  Allston  and  his  wife  climbed  the 
mountain  road  to  visit  Bud  and  Roxie.  Together 
they  took  the  same  trail  that  separately  each  had 
taken  once  before  —  along  the  sandy  road  skirt- 
ing the  valley  and  up  through  the  dark  forest. 
If  here  where  the  woods  smell  damp  Wilmer 
clung  to  Allston's  arm,  it  is  nobody's  business. 
Once  through  the  leafy  tunnel  and  on  the  open 
ridge  looking  down  upon  the  sunlit  valley,  Wil- 
mer paused  and,  placing  her  hands  upon  her  hus- 


BIG  LAUREL  305 

band's  shoulder,  looked  straight  into  his  blue 
eyes  and  whispered: 

"  Even  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil.  For  Thou 
art  with  me." 

Reverently  he  kissed  her  white  forehead. 

So  they  went  on  into  the  dragon  country,  fear- 
ing nothing,  their  hearts  singing.  As  they  ap- 
proached the  clearing  they  heard  the  sound  of  a 
hammer  and  found  Bud  busy  upon  a  substantial 
addition  to  the  cabin  —  a  generous  front  porch 
made  of  planed  boards.  He  stepped  forward  cor- 
dially to  greet  them. 

"Roxie's  in  thar,"  he  said  with  a  jerk  of  his 
thumb  towards  the  interior.  "An'  she  '11  shore  be 
mighty  proud  ter  see  yuh." 

As  the  two  approached  the  door  he  stood  aside 
to  allow  them  to  pass.  He  himself  stopped  a  mo- 
ment before  a  rather  conspicuous  doormat  bear- 
ing the  word  "Welcome."  Rather  sheepishly  he 
lagged  behind  to  wipe  his  heavy  boots  clean  of 
all  dirt. 

"Roxie's  kinder  fussy  'bout  mud,"  he 
explained. 

THE   END 


T 


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